


A Fangirl's Dream (vol. 1): The Beginning

by Lady_Angel_Fanwriter



Series: A Fangirl's Dream [1]
Category: British Actor RPF, Richard Armitage - Fandom
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Love, Romance, Romanticism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 10:09:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 56,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7098448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Angel_Fanwriter/pseuds/Lady_Angel_Fanwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fangirl's dream is to meet her idol - actor, singer, athlete, it doesn't matter - and to capture his attention until he falls in love with her: let's admit it! XD Even if we know perfectly that the possibilities are so remote to be nearly inexistent, nothing prevents us to dream about it, and dreams never harmed anybody.<br/>This fan fiction is exactly this: a fangirl's dream put down in black and white. I tried however to stay the most realistic possible and not to fangirl too much, but expect romanticism and fluff at full force LOL<br/>This story has the only purpose to express my (and all fangirls') love and admiration for this gorgeous male specimen of the human race, excellent actor, and wonderful person named Richard Armitage.<br/>Enjoy!<br/>Lady Angel</p><p>P.S.: English is not my native language and this story hasn't been yet beta-read by any English-speaking person, so please forgive the mistakes.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Friday, September 5th. 2014

 

Chapter I: Friday September 5th, 2014

It was all day that Nives hadn’t eat anything: after the gigantic full breakfast at the hotel, at first she hadn’t been hungry and, later, the growing emotion caused by the approaching fatal hour of her encounter with Richard Armitage had her stomach closed.  
Richard Armitage… the actor for whom Nives two years ago had lost her head like a teenager, despite her being in her forties.  
The famous actor played Thorin Oakenshield in Peter Jackson’s praised cinematographic trilogy The Hobbit, which last part would be released in December. Before that, he had worked on many television productions, successful but mostly confined in the British market, playing a great array of characters, who went from the romantic Victorian gentleman to the hard special enforcement soldier; but it had been only with the celebrated cinematographic fantasy saga that he had hit worldwide fame, which gave him the chance to finally realize his true desire, that was to play theatre in a top level production. This was what he was doing right now, playing the protagonist of Arthur Miller’s drama The Crucible for the prestigious London theatre The Old Vic.  
When Nives heard about it, she thought she would immensely like to go and see him; after all, from Venice to London it was only a two hours flight and, with the low cost fares, one could really pay little money; but she would never had found the courage to actually do it if not for Lorraine, her French friend who lived in Venice for over ten years, who encouraged her to realize her dream and offered even to accompany her.  
And now there she was, in London, in a hotel room, changing to go to theatre and later to wait for Richard outside the stage door, with the purpose to get an autograph and a picture together as an everlasting memory; she had also a gift for him, a prestigious ceramic of Nove (*), in the hope that he would like it and take it to his home, a memory of a fan who went such a long way just to see him once in her life…  
Her hands trembled slightly, beginning her preparations: transparent stockings, invisible but which made nice legs; black slingbacks decorated with white crystals and beads, and ten centimetres [4”] high stiletto heels – never before Nives had weared such high heels; red satin skirt with a matching lace underskirt; jewel-watch, necklace and earrings, all of white crystal; and the centrepiece, a very romantic snow white corset, with tiny twirly sleeves one could lower on the arms to stay bare-shoulder. She would probably be very uncomfortable, but for her idol, this and much more.

  
Flavia, her other friend who accompanied her in this crazy adventure, was preparing, too, and in the meanwhile she watched Nives out of the corner of her eye, feeling her growing agitation. Flavia knew Nives since she was a child; there were twenty years to separate them, but she had always considered her like a big sister, all the times ready to listen to her sentimental worries as a teenager first and as a young woman now, encouraging her and giving her good advice. When Nives had proposed her this somewhat crazy trip, she didn’t hesitate to accept, because she had never seen London, like Nives anyway; furthermore, she didn’t mind a bit to go and see such a high level play.  
She saw her struggle in vain with the bustier clasps, which didn’t want to close.  
“Wait, I’ll help you”, she offered. For two years, she had fun taking classes of burlesque, which made her an expert in corsets; it was she who convinced Nives to buy it, in view of the fatal encounter.  
With skilful movements, she hooked the corset, which fitted perfectly.  
“If it’s too tight, I can stretch the laces on the back”, Flavia reminded Nives.  
The older woman inhaled deeply: the corset was tight, but not exceedingly.  
“No, I think it’s fine”, she answered. Flavia nodded and got back to see for her own outfit, while Nives continued with her preparations, going to the makeup: she used a pink eyeshadow, then, using a flat brush, she highlighted the almond shape of her eyes blending with a purple eyeshadow, finally adding some glitter on the eyebrow arch to enlighten her gaze; black mascara and blended black eyeliner pencil; dark pink lipstick to highlight her mouth – which in her opinion was the best part of her face, with perfectly drawn lips, as her beautician always told her.  
Her hands shook more and more, and it was only a miracle that she didn’t smudge anything.  
Not being able to make herself an evening hairdo, nor her friends were able to help her, she let her very long dark brown hair down and just used a headband adorned with crystals which, on one side, opened up like a bouquet of leaves, a headdress she bought specifically for this occasion a few weeks earlier.  
As a last touch, the vanilla and white musk perfume which, as the headband, she bought expressly.  
Finally, she looked at her nails, which her dear friend Clara was pleased to do: dark green and silver glitter, except for the thumbs on which she had painted the Tolkienian rune “R”, which obviously stood for the initial of Richard.  
Nives looked at the long mirror on the wall and wasn’t able to determine if she liked or not what she saw there; she turned to her young friend, asking her uncertainly:  
“What do you think?”  
“You are gorgeous”, Flavia assured her.  
“Thank you”, Nives sighed, pretending to believe her. Maybe I could be convinced if it would be Richard telling me so… she thought in a flair of sarcastic humour, but of course, she knew perfectly that this could never happen.  
She checked one last time the red cloth bag in which she put the box with the gift she brought for Richard; there was also a note explaining what it was, with the wish he would like it.  
In another golden cloth bag she had put a black woollen jacket, to wear later under the coat, when she would wait for Richard outside the stage door, and a scarf of black voile decorated with silver drawings, to wear in the theatre in order to cover her bare shoulders: inside it was surely warm enough, but having to stay seated for over three hours, she feared to end up feeling cold, with nothing on.  
At that moment, they heard a knock on the door: it was Lorraine, who had preferred a single room. She looked at them with a smile:  
“You’re both stunning”, she stated.  
“You too”, Nives replied, sincerely. In fact, Lorraine too looked her best, with a long multicoloured dress, an ivory lace bolero and elegant shoes; an unusual shaped headband decorated her long chestnut brown hair. Flavia instead wore a short satin dress, which peachy colour matched well her fair blond complexion, with a black bolero and golden sandals with vertiginous heels.  
Nives glanced at the watch and saw it was six p.m.  
“It’s almost time to go downstairs”, she announced. In ten minutes, the taxi they booked to drive them to the Old Vic would arrive. Actually, the theatre wasn’t distant at all from the hotel, but going by foot with their high heels was unthinkable, unless they wanted to kill themselves.  
The taxi was sharp on time; the driver, in jacket and tie, got off the car to open the door, looking admiringly to the three women, beautiful and very elegant. He waited for them to be seated, and then he hopped on and drove off to the Old Vic.  
There was some traffic, which slowed down the vehicle pace; at what seemed to her the nth red light – actually, only the third one – Nives felt her anxiety reach unbearable levels. She got angry with herself: it wasn’t possible being so agitated for such a petty thing! She concentrated on her breathe, practicing a simple mental technique she leaned attending for some years yoga classes, and she calmed down.  
After all, they arrived ten minutes before the due opening time. They got off the taxi, paid and went to the entrance, which was located under a colonnade; there were people waiting on the left of the doors, still closed, and Nives thought they were there, too, awaiting to enter. They queued up with the others and put themselves in order to wait their turn.  
After some time, Lorraine checked her watch.  
“It’s 6.35”, she considered, “Odd, that the line didn’t move yet…”  
Taken by an intuition, she signalled to the other two to wait and went to see; she came back after a few moments:  
“The doors are open, but these people don’t enter: I think they don’t have a ticket and are awaiting to see if there is some surrender, so that they can take the place of those who can’t come.”  
“Then I go and pick up the tickets”, announced immediately Nives, who had taken care of their booking three months earlier.  
The young woman behind the desk saw her coming toward her and smiled, signalling her to wait a moment while she completed something she was doing on the computer, and then she addressed her:  
“Good evening, how can I help you?”  
“Good evening, I booked three tickets from Italy”, Nives answered handing over the confirmation she received via e-mail, “The name is Nardini.”  
The clerk got up and went to look into a box; she took off a small pack, bringing it to the desk.  
“Do you have a card?”, she asked. Nives thought she was asking her the payment receipt and wondered why: after all, she had already shown the confirmation.  
“Um, no”, she answered, perplexed. The young woman frowned a bit, clearly surprised, and presented her the small pack, on which Nives’ surname was printed.  
“Don’t you have anything showing this name?”, she asked.  
“Oh, you meant an ID card!”, Nives exclaimed, feeling relieved and at the same time a little irritated: darn, couln’t the woman be more explicit?  
She fished the document out of her black satin purse, which made a perfect pendant with her backstring shoes, and handed it over to the clerk, who glanced at it and gave it back to her along with the pack, which was not else than the three tickets for the play.  
“Thank you very much”, said Nives.  
“You’re welcome”, answered the young woman, with the typical, pleasant British politeness.  
Nives went back to her friends, who had waited for her under the colonnade; she waved the tickets excitedly:  
“Here they are!”, she announced, even if it was unnecessary.  
“Fine”, Lorraine said, satisfied, “Let’s go grab something to eat.”  
They went down to the Pit Bar, the theatre’s bar; the tables were all occupied and there were people standing in front of the counter.  
“We’re three”, Lorraine said to the waiter who went for them, “We’d like something to eat.”  
“I’m sorry”, said the waiter, “we don’t serve any food.”  
Nives was unpleasantly surprised: she had read on the theatre’s website that they could find there some snacks, she was absolutely sure of it.  
“No problem”, Lorraine promptly announced, not losing her aplomb, “Where could we go?”  
“Going out, turn to the right and cross the street”, the man kindly suggested her, “There are a number of pubs and restaurants among which you can choose.”  
“Thank you very much.”  
The three friends went back outside.  
“Girls, I’m sorry”, said Nives, regretful, “I swear, on the website I read that at the Pit Bar we could find some sandwiches.”  
“Don’t worry”, Flavia smiled at her amiably, “we believe you.”  
They did as the kind waiter had suggested tehm and went across the street, where they immediately found a Mexican restaurant. Unfortunately, there were no seats for them, and as they couldn’t wait, they preferred to go on searching. Nives’ anxiety touched stellar levels, but luckily, they found a seat in the immediately following pub.  
They sat at a table, Flavia and Lorraine on one side, Nives on the opposite, and took off their coats. The waiter came quickly, bringing three menus.  
“When you have made up your choice””, he instructed them, “come to the counter to order and pay, then it will be brought to your table.”  
Nives scanned the menu, but she still felt her stomach knotted up to the point she wouldn’t be able to swallow a single morsel. Therefore, she gave up, opting for a spoon of stragistò (**) scented ice cream with honey, just to say she hadn’t fasted the whole day.  
Lorraine instead chose a hamburger with a glass of cider, while Flavia preferred a mixed berries yogurt; but she had a snack during the afternoon, differently from Lorraine and Nives.  
After the order, the waiter didn’t make them wait long for the cider, the yogurt and the ice cream. Nives adored stragistò and compelled herself to eat, but she swallowed by force what she put in her mouth. After some morsels, she thought she was going to be sick and so ceased.  
She couldn’t believe what she was feeling. She felt the impelling need to vent.  
“Girls”, she began, “I’m almost ashamed by myself… Really, I am over forty, but I feel I’m behaving like a fifteen years old teenager… My stomach is so closed for the excitement that I’m not able even to eat this ridiculous spoonful of ice cream!”  
Lorraine looked at her sympathetically:  
“Hey, there isn’t an age, for emotions”, she asserted quietly, “and anyway, me too, I did my crazy things for that French actor I told you…”  
“And didn’t I, too?”, Flavia added, “Don’t you remember, a few months ago, when I went to Berlin just to see my favourite singer? Even if I’m younger than you, I’m not fifteen any more…”  
Nives inhaled slowly: her friends were right. She felt a little less ridiculous.  
At that moment, a middle-aged woman, blond and a bit overweight, approached her.  
“Excuse me”, she addressed her smiling, “I must absolutely tell you: you look stunning! I saw you the moment I entered here and I thought you look like a Matisse painting…”  
It was apparent she was referring to the romantic corset Nives was wearing. Nives felt literally breathless and looked at her wide-eyed: never, in all her life, had she received such an elegant and thrilling compliment like this one. Furthermore, coming from another woman, it was even more valuable, because it was more unbiased than any compliment a man could give her.  
“Thank you!”, she managed to say. The woman beamed again and left.  
“Did you hear what she said??”, muttered Nives, astonished, addressing her two friends who were looking at her, grinning and pleased.  
“What did I tell you?”, Flavia chuckled, “You are gorgeous!”  
Nives shook her head, incapable to believe she was really prettier as usual; the thought, instead of reassuring her, strangely gave her more anxiety. Oh good heavens, did she seriously risk to faint, when she would see Richard in flesh and blood? She felt very silly.  
Finally, Lorraine’s hamburger arrived; only twenty minutes were left to the beginning of the play, so the young woman ate very quickly. Nives worried about her and hoped she didn’t get an indigestion.  
Being the bill already paid, when Lorraine finished they had nothing else to do except stand up, put on their coats and exit. Nives, unaccustomed to such high heels, walked slowly, worried she could break an ankle, and therefore the even short way to the Old Vic seemed endless to her.  
Lastly, they entered and showed their tickets to the collector, who addressed them to the most convenient entrance to their seats. As she booked, Nives was able to find only one place in the first row, which had other two nearby, so that they could stay together; but the seats for her friends were immediately behind hers.  
Nives took off her coat and picked up the scarf from the bag, draping it over her bare shoulders.  
They sat down, finding the stuffed seats very comfortable. In front of them stood another staff member, an attractive dark haired man about thirty, carrying booklets of the play. Nives got up and approached him.  
“Good evening”, she addressed him, “May I have a copy?”  
“Certainly”, he answered with an admiring beam, or so it seemed to Nives. No, she told herself, my head is getting kind of big. She swiftly paid the required four pounds and sat again; she leafed through the booklet, noticing that it was packed with information about the cast and crew, and that it narrated the history about how Arthur Miller got the idea for this drama, which told about an historical episode occurred in the Seventeenth Century but which was really about the McCarthyism rampant in the United States of the Twentieth Century Fifties.  
At that point, Nives took out from her purse the camera she brought, to take pictures of the theatre interiors and the stage, which was full of chairs; obviously, during the play she would take no pictures. The camera flashed and Nives looked satisfied at the nice photo on the screen.

  
The staff member from whom she had bought the booklet earlier came immediately near her and bent on her.  
“I’m sorry”, he said in a low voice, with a desolate expression, “but it’s not allowed to take pictures.”  
Nives thought he feared she would shoot photos during the play.  
“I won’t take any during the performance”, she assured him therefore, “I only wanted to photograph the interiors of this wonderful theatre.”  
The man took an even more regretful expression.  
“I’m sorry”, he repeated, “but it isn’t allowed to photograph the theatre, either…”  
This time it was Nives who took a mortified expression:  
“Excuse me please!”, she exclaimed, “I didn’t know it, I cancel immediately the picture.”  
She did it quickly under the man’s eyes, and then she announced:  
“Done.”  
The man beamed:  
“Thank you so much”, he said, “and excuse me.”  
“No, you excuse me”, Nives repeated, thinking that only the British could excuse themselves to make respecting a rule: they were simply too kind, she concluded admired. If only everybody would be like them, throughout the world! She had always liked the British, but now even more, she decided.  
Other people continued to arrive, taking quietly their seats; there was great chattering, so to talk to her friends, who were sitting directly behind her, Nives had to raise her voice:  
“So, do you like it?”  
“It’s stunning”, Flavia declared with enthusiasm, “and original, I never saw a theatre like this.”  
She was referring to the fact that, unlike a traditional theatre with parterre and stalls in front of a stage, the Old Vic looked like an ancient arena, because the stage was actually simply an open round space at the bottom of the cone formed by the seats. There was practically nothing physically separating the actors from the spectators.  
Some moments later, the lights began to dim; as if by magic, the buzz stopped and an immediate silence descended on the audience; a solemn and evocative music began to play.  
Nives caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and turned a bit her head to the left and the aisle: the actors were arriving on stage, coming from there and from the other three corridors, walking virtually among the spectators.  
The actors paraded slowly at her side, one, two, three… and suddenly there he was, him in all his impressive stature, the neatly trimmed beard, his bright eyes sparkling in the dim light, the collar of his jacket upright exactly like in the theatrical poster. He passed her by at less than thirty centimetres [12”]. Nives’ heart stopped in her chest, the hair on her arms stood on end and her breath stuck in her throat. If she wouldn’t be seated, she would have surely collapsed on the floor. She had thought over and over again how that moment would be, but nothing had her prepared to the full force of the emotion who pervaded her, overwhelming her. She felt herself blushing, embarrassed: she simply couldn’t forget her official age, very different from the emotional one she felt at that moment.

  
The actors took their seats, each one taking on a particular posture; Richard had a very dramatic one: one elbow on his knee, his hand holding his brow, his eyes shut, as he was in the grip of a complete desperation, forewarning of his character’s, John Proctor, the protagonist of the drama, tragic destiny.  
They stayed like this for about a minute; then they raised and, taking each his own chair, they cleared the stage.

*   *   *   *   *

Coming back with his chair in his hands, a white blaze struck Richard’s eye, revealed by the spotlight, which was moving on the stage: in the very first row, there was a young dark haired woman with a snow-white top, sitting with elegantly crossed legs. Their eyes met for a short moment before he overstepped her; for a split second, the actor felt his ferocious concentration waver and a strange premonition squeezed his chest. Thanks to his high professionalism, he caught himself immediately and went on as if nothing happened; but while he was waiting to go on stage, in about fifteen minutes, his mind continued to analyse the unusual sensation he had felt.  
A couple of months earlier, he had posed for some pictures sitting exactly on that seat, and even then he felt a sense of predestination, which somewhat got him upset. He was rather a practical kind of person and such things didn’t easily affect him, but that day he wondered about the sensation he felt, so strongly to be almost disturbing. It was like something telling him that that seat would determine a very important event in his life, but which one, he had no clue. The romantic part of his soul suggested that in that very seat would sit the woman of his life, but he drove away that bizarre idea laughing at himself. It was true, he craved pretty much to meet a woman who could stay with him forever, but he doubted this could happen in such a – literally – dramatic way. Therefore, he shook off that weird feeling and forgot about it. Also because in the meantime, in that specific seat, many women had sat down, but none impressed him particularly.  
So far.  
He peeped from the backstage; thank to his by now long familiarity with the theatre structure, he easily found again the woman he noticed. She was a bit far, nonetheless she appeared quite attractive, with that long, loose dark hair adorned by something shining, maybe crystals, and that very romantic top – no, it was a corselet – leaving her bare shouldered, as the black voile scarf revealed. An unusual outfit, but definitely chic, he thought.  
“Five minutes”, reminded him the director, Yaël Farber. Richard nodded, diverting from those disturbing toughts: he was a consummate professional; he wouldn’t allow anything or anybody to interfere with his performance… not even that pretty brunette.

*   *   *   *   *

Nives followed the first lines of the play very carefully; she had never seen The Crucible, but she made accurate researches about both the plot and the characters and their performers. She appreciated very much Samantha Colley’s recitation – the young novice who performed Abigail Williams, the one who, for her personal advantage, would cause the witch hunt in the pacific puritan community of Salem.  
Then there came Richard, performing the tormented John Proctor. Her eyes glued on his tall shape and Nives hold her breath hearing, for the first time live, the wonderful, rich baritone voice of her idol.  
The drama unfolded under her eyes; Richard’s recitation was totally captivating, potent and emotional, confirming to Nives that, beyond her crush for him, he was an extraordinary actor. The other actors, however, were no less: surely, they chose them exactly for their exceptional skill, or otherwise, the main performer’s talent would have them irremediably obscured. Nives was particularly struck, in addition to Colley, by Natalie Gavin, Michael Thomas and Adrian Schiller.  
The proximity with the actors added one more emotional layer to the experience she was living: she almost believed to be literally inside the action they were performing, like she, too, would have been part of it. She would absolutely not be surprised if, at a certain point, one of them would take her by the hand and have her dragged on stage to recite with them, even if only as a mute extra.  
The performance required also a lot of physical activity from the actors, who in certain scenes ran and jumped and threw themselves on the ground, to the point that in a couple of occasions Nives thought that, sooner or later, somebody would end up in the arms of the spectators sitting in the first row, maybe exactly in hers; but of course everything was accurately calculated and, even if accidents could always happen, it was extremely unlikely it would really occur.  
In the second act, Proctor went back home and refreshed himself in a basin full of water; to do it, Richard undressed and remained shirtless, but unfortunately he was turning his back to Nives. The young woman was a bit sorry, but also the actor’s backside was a very nice view. Then he kneeled on the ground and bent over the basin, offering to Nives – and of course also to the rest of the audience on that side of the theatre – the spectacular view of is bum in very tight slacks. Nives’ heart skipped a beat; on TV, sometimes she had seen him naked out of script needs, but live, even if more clothed, it was something entirely different…  
She caught herself, reprimanding herself harshly: they were performing a gloomy and tragic drama, she shouldn’t have such kind of thoughts… but she hadn’t been able to help it.  
What she didn’t know, was that she was going to see even more of her favourite actor…

*   *   *   *   *

During the interval, Richard went to the box office, where the woman in charge was closing up.  
“Good evening, Mrs Taylor”, he addressed her.  
“Oh, good evening Mr Armitage, can I help you?”, the elderly lady asked him fondly: here was an international star who wasn’t not even near arrogant, differently from some other colleagues of him she met during her thirty years career in the box offices of the most prestigious London theatres.  
“I think I know someone among the audience”, the actor stated, knowing he was lying but he wasn’t able to find a more plausible justification to the request he was going to ask, “Can you tell me who is sitting where?”  
“Sure”, Mrs Taylor nodded, turning to the computer and typing some keys, “Which seat are we talking about?”  
Richard described it and she located it, then she compared the number with the name.  
“Nives Nardini”, she answered, turning to look at him, curious. He nodded, pretending he recognized the name:  
“Ah, fine, I thought it was her…”, he said in a low voice, “Thank you, Mrs Taylor.”  
“You’re welcome”, the woman replied, wondering what connection there was between those two. A holiday acquaintance, perhaps? Or from school, or some work in the past? But the actor didn’t satisfy her curiosity and just took his leave with a nod, returning back to his dressing room.  
The interruption had cost him a big effort: usually, when he went into the character, he didn’t go out of it until he had finished, in order not to lose his focus and therefore to make a double effort to regain it; but this time he had to make an exception, because during all the time he had been on stage, in every moment he felt that young woman with the white corselet’s eyes on him, following him attentively and – he hoped – approvingly. He was too much an earnest professional to let this unsettle him, but, not to risk anything, he had chosen not to look at her even just once; but now he was eaten up by his curiosity.  
The name seemed Spanish, or Italian. Was it possible that she had come from one of those Countries to see him? He wanted to meet her, learn who she was, find out if she had come to see The Crucible because she liked theatre in general or that particular drama or because she was friends with some other member of the cast or crew… or if she was there for him.  
Richard was a modest person, success and fame didn’t go to his head and he still found it difficult to believe that there were persons who undertook a long journey just to see him; there had already been some people coming from half of Europe and even from the United States, but nevertheless it continued to seem incredible in his eyes.

*   *   *   *   *

There was an endless queue for the lady’s room; as usual, for the women’s one, thought Nives disappointed. She wasn’t in a particular need, but not knowing how long she had to wait for Richard outside the stage door, she preferred to anticipate it. Finally, it was her turn; she did quickly, then she returned to her seat, coming across Flavia whom Lorraine had given the changing of the guard to their possessions. Her young friend made it barely to come back in time before the lights began again to fade and then go off completely for the third act.  
In a crescendo more and more dramatic, the play arrived finally to the last scene, where John Proctor entered – after three months of imprisonment and tortures – covered in rags and blood. Nives was shocked, even if she knew perfectly it was only make up; but the empathy she felt for the entire performance was simply too strong and she couldn’t help it.  
Even if he was sentenced to death – for crimes he didn’t commit – when his accusers tried to persuade him to accuse others in order to save his own life, Proctor refused, screaming his indignation. Doing so, he lifted his arms above his head and arched back his body… and the cloth of his slacks stretched in the front, revealing a considerable bulk. For a split moment, Nives’ eyes widened and she had to resort to all her self-control to compose herself again, but she couldn’t prevent herself to think O my! He’s well-endowed indeed! It was a completely out-of-place thought, in that moment, and she drove it away feeling ashamed. However, the image remained sharply impressed in her brain.  
Finally, Proctor said goodbye to his wife – who was expecting their fourth child – with a kiss so full of love and sadness and desperation that it broke Nives’ heart and her eyes filled with tears. Then the cops tore him off his wife’s arms and dragged him away, toward the gallows; Nives couldn’t stop her tears and brought one hand to her mouth to stifle a sob.  
Darkness fell on the stage, acting as a curtain.  
After a moment of absolute silence, like a restrained breath, the audience burst into a heart-felt, deafening applause. The lights turned on again and the actors went back all together on stage, where they stopped in arranged spots and bowed to the four directions; then they went out, and Nives wiped off her tears to let them know how much their performance touched her. Richard travelled again down the aisle right on her side, and the young woman hoped he had seen her, not because she expected that he could somehow notice her, but simply to communicate him her deep emotion; but she didn’t dare to look him in the eyes to verify if she managed it, therefore she missed the brief glance he gave her.

*   *   *   *   *

Richard was disconcerted: he had seen her cry, when John Proctor exited going to the gallows, but when he later passed by her side, she didn’t even look at him, ignoring him. Well, he should know better: she wasn’t there for him. So, he had his lesson not to build any castles in the sky…  
At the second exit, he avoided looking toward her and concentrated only on the clapping that was raining down on him and the whole cast, applause becoming more intense as soon as his colleagues withdrew and left him on stage alone for some moments. Many among the spectators bestowed him with a standing ovation, which was something that thrilled him each time, and he didn’t spare thanking bows. Turning, he saw her still clapping and wiping her eyes, but she had stayed seated. Fine, she didn’t like him enough to homage him with a standing ovation. Again, he scolded himself for his vanity.  
After a last bow, he left the stage.

*   *   *   *   *

Nives felt like her knees had turned to jelly and didn’t dare to stand up and applaud her idol, even if she wanted to: she feared she couldn’t make it. Therefore, she just clapped her hands as loud as she could, at least when she didn’t have to wipe off the tears that continued to drop from her eyes, jeopardizing the make-up she put on with all her care.  
Without waiting the clapping to end, she began to dress again, while Flavia and Lorraine mimicked her: they had to run to the stage door to queue up as soon as possible. But despite their quickness, they found an already very long line.  
“We were amongst the first to come out”, Lorraine pointed out thoughtfully, “These people were not all inside the theatre to watch tonight’s play… in my opinion, they are here for a long time, coming just to see Richard.”  
“I think you’re right”, Flavia confirmed, and Nives, too, nodded her agreement, resigned: they would wait patiently their turn.  
“I wonder how much he’ll need to exit”, she said, “He must remove his make-up and change…”  
“Oh, it’ll take surely some time”, confirmed Lorraine who, given her theatrical actress past, knew well what she was talking about.  
Instead, they were proved wrong, because less than fifteen minutes later Richard appeared on the threshold, accompanied by a bodyguard, a tall black man with a kind but resolute expression.  
“But, is he already here??”, Flavia exclaimed, struck.  
“So it seems!”, murmured Nives; her heart jumped in her throat, but she forced herself to stay calm. She rummaged through her purse to pick up her camera, lifted it above the heads of the crowd and activated the zoom. Being able to focus on Richard while he was signing an autograph, she succeeded to shot a satisfying picture. Then she handed the camera to Flavia, the appointed photographer of the meeting.

  
Meanwhile, Lorraine had slipped forward and succeeded in having an autograph on the copy of The Hobbit she bought that same day with the purpose to present it to her boyfriend; however she couldn’t manage to do it also with the picture that Nives got her, because Richard was passing rather fast from one fan to another, being the throng too numerous to let him stop more than a few seconds with each one; as a matter of fact he already ceased to pose for pictures and selfies with the fans.  
Finally, Nives had him in front of her, brandishing his marker pen ready to sign anything they presented him. Controlling her strong emotion, she smiled at him and handed him the picture she let compose and print expressly for this occasion, a collage of her favourite characters performed by him. She thought he reciprocated her smile in a particularly friendly way while he was signing the photo.  
“Thank you, Mr Armitage”, she told him in her best English, “Can I give you a present from my Country?”  
He looked struck.  
“Certainly”, he replied with his glorious baritone voice, which made her knees bend, “Where are you from?”  
“Italy”, she answered.  
Richard felt euphoric: so she was there for him, after all! He opened his mouth to speak, but his bodyguard was already dragging him away: the line was still very long. He wanted to tell her wait for me, I want to speak with you, but he couldn’t do it in front of the crowd without making a mess.  
“Thanks for coming all this way…”, he managed to shoot her over his shoulder, before the fans surrounded him, claiming his attention. He could but hope she would stop as long as he could come back, then he would invite her to follow him through the stage door and he would talk to her.  
Nives stood there, frozen; she was happy to have succeeded in making him autograph the picture and to talk to him, but she was disappointed not having been able to give him her gift. She looked for someone to give it to, with the request to deliver it to Richard – she trusted these English people, she was sure they wouldn’t not even think about stealing it – but she didn’t see anybody fit to. Her shoulders drooped. Oh well, evidently it was meant to be that way.  
She began to move, and her friends followed her. They returned to the main street, looking for a taxi to go back to the hotel.  
Lorraine gazed the red bag containing the ceramic, feeling sad for Nives.  
“I’m sorry you couldn’t manage to give him your present nor to take a picture with him”, she said, “Neither I could have his autograph on the pic”, she added, clearly disappointed, she too.  
“And I wasn’t able to shoot other photos”, Flavia declared, displeased, “It was too crowded, I couldn’t frame him…”, she concluded, showing the only picture she had shot, completely blurred.  
Nives felt a lump forming in her throat and sighed trying to loosen it.  
“Too bad”, she murmured, depressed, “At least I saw him closely and I talked to him…”  
She wanted to cry as a child to whom a dearly sought gift had been denied, but she forced herself not to give in: for heaven’s sake, she was an adult woman, not a baby! She couldn’t cry for something like this.  
They stopped the first available taxi passing by and got in. Nives felt falling apart, even if rationally she knew she should be happy instead: after all, she just attended a play of a stratospheric level in one of the most prestigious theatre in one of the biggest towns in the world; but the truth was that she had so much wanted to give Richard her present, which could possibly end up in his house reminding him that fan of him who came all that way just to see him once in her life, so not having succeeded made her lose her heart completely…

*   *   *   *   *

“I’m sorry guys, autograph session’s over”, Bob announced in a loud voice, beginning to drag Richard again toward the stage door. Disappointed murmurs came from the crowd, but nobody even thought about protesting or, worse, coming on aggressively: the Armitage Army fans were too much respectful to do so, and anyway they were in England and the English are always very disciplined and correct. Richard was therefore able to go back undisturbed; anxiously, he scanned the crowd searching for Nives, but he didn’t catch sight of her.  
“Do you see a petite, dark haired girl, with a crystal headband and a red skirt?”, he asked Bob. The bodyguard checked carefully the surroundings: he was trained to notice little details, but he didn’t see any woman who corresponded to the description Richard had give to him.  
“No, I’m sorry”, he answered, gently pushing back a fan who, more audacious than the other ones, had come too close. The girl didn’t insist and took a step back with an excusing expression, while the actor crossed the door.  
Richard felt like someone had poured a bucketful of icy water over his head, exactly like the night he accepted the challenge for the money raising supporting the medical research about ALS. He felt like he had lost an once-in-a-lifetime occasion. Damn, he was getting too sensitive.  
Then it occurred him that Nives, coming from Italy, must have booked and paid online, therefore the box office had her data. By that hour Mrs Taylor was already gone for a long time, but tomorrow he could ask her for information… but what if she denied him because of the privacy?, he wondered, frowning. In that case, he could ask her to contact Nives for him, he concluded, cheering up.  
Shaking his head, incredulous of himself regarding his anxious mind condition toward an absolute stranger, he returned to his dressing room, where he would wait for Bob to signal him green light to call a taxi and have him brought home.

*   *   *   *   *

The journey lasted only very few minutes and then they were already in front of the hotel. Nives however was so much distraught that she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep for a long time; sensing her state of mind, Lorraine suddenly said:  
“The play thrilled me a lot, I’m too excited to go and sleep now… would you like to come and take a stroll?”  
“Ah… gladly”, Nives immediately accepted, “But let’s change before, the heels are killing me…”  
“I’m too tired”, Flavia declared instead, “even if I’m not sleepy yet. You two go.”  
They went therefore to their rooms and, whilst Flavia prepared to go to bed, Nives changed into jeans and t-shirt and – above all – comfortable sneakers for that night stroll which, she hoped, would calm her down.  
When she got ready, she took her leave from her young friend, and then she went down two storeys to take Lorraine, who was waiting for her, she too with more comfortable shoes.  
They went out; it was almost midnight and the pubs were already closed or were about to, thus they didn’t stop anywhere and just went for a short promenade in the fresh air of that London night.  
“It was outstanding”, stated Lorraine with enthusiasm, “Just watching this play was worth the entire trip.”  
“I agree”, said Nives, nodding, “Richard was exceptional, and so all the others, too… There have been times I wasn’t able to breathe, I was so taken away.”  
“So was I”, Lorraine admitted, “I think that theatre is Richard’s best dimension to express his talent. He’s incredible in TV and in movies, too, but on stage he is simply sublime.”  
“I think you’re right. I’d like immensely to see him on other plays, possibly Shakespeare…”  
“Yeah, I see him well as the protagonist of Macbeth or King Lear or even of Hamlet, given the superb job he did with that audiobook.”  
She was referring to the recently released audiobook Nives had of course immediately purchased, where the actor read the fictionalized narration of one of the most famous plays in the world, performing in a peculiar way each and every character.  
But Nives had her mind on other things.  
“Damn, I’m so terribly unhappy I wasn’t able to give him my present…”, she whispered sorrowfully, “And to think he had even accepted it…”  
Lorraine pressed her lips, deeply sorry for her friend. Then an idea struck her:  
“Listen, why don’t we go again tomorrow evening and go to the stage door much before the end of the play??”, she suggested, “After all, many others did it, tonight: we can do it, too, right?”  
Nives looked at her like she were an angel.  
“Oh goodness, do you mean it?”, she asked, a little uncertain: she didn’t want to bother her friends more than she already had, after all they were there almost exclusively to indulge her craziness.  
“Of course!”, exclaimed Lorraine, “I did it myself with my favourite actor, and not only once! You can certainly do it, too. Let’s go there at 10.30 pm and wait for him: you’ll see that, doing so, being among the first ones, you’ll be able to give him your gift and to have a picture with him shot by Flavia! And I’ll be able to get also the second autograph!”  
Infected by her friend’s enthusiasm, Nives cheered up again: a second chance! And so simple she didn’t think about it!  
“Agreed”, she accepted, “but this time let’s walk, anyway it’s only ten minutes away… tonight we took the taxi only because of our high heels, but tomorrow I can go in jeans and a t-shirt…”  
“Don’t even think about it!”, Lorraine interrupted her vehemently, shocked, “You dress and make-up exactly like tonight, you cannot get photographed with Richard in a casual attire! And anyway, tomorrow evening I will be again elegant, I’ve got to go to the Globe to watch The Comedy of Errors”, she reminded her.  
“Hey, but walking up there with high heels will kill me…”, Nives began, thinking that she would rather take another taxi. Then it occurred her the most obvious solution, “Well, but I can put on my sneakers – at any rate, here in London nobody cares if you’re dressed up weirdly – and I take my backslings in a bag, and then I change them once there…”  
“Brilliant idea!”, approved Lorraine, “And I will have my low heeled shoes, I’ll dress trousers tomorrow night.”  
Happy of the solution they had found, the two friends got back to the hotel. There they learnt the bar was open 24 hours, like the reception.  
“Do you like to drink something?”, Nives asked to Lorraine: even if her blues were gone, at the possibility to see Richard again, her nerves were still too shaken by the violent emotions she had felt that night, and a little amount of alcohol would certainly help her to sleep.  
“Gladly”, Lorraine accepted.  
Therefore, they had a drink and then they went back to their respective rooms. Nives slept like a baby, but she wouldn’t be able to say if this was because of the alcohol or of the thought that she still had another chance to fully realize her dream.

 

 

(*) Nove and Bassano ceramics are, along with those of Faenza and Capodimonte, the most celebrated ceramics manufactured in Italy.  
(**) Greek yogurt.


	2. Saturday, December 6th, 2014

 

Chapter II: Saturday, December 6th, 2014

The following evening, after another day spent around in London to visit the most iconic places, Nives went back to preparing. Flavia, who had only to shoot the famous photo, favoured a casual attire, while Lorraine headed for the Globe again in an elegant outfit. As agreed the previous day, they would meet at 10.30 p.m. at the stage door of the Old Vic.  
On that day, in addition to the full breakfast they had in the morning, they also lunched, and even quite late; Nives, again too anxious, now wasn’t hungry, but Flavia wanted to eat something, so they left earlier than what they had planned.  
Nives felt ridiculous going around in an evening attire with sneakers, but decided not to care about it, also because, she thought, the reason of that unusual combination was fairly clear even to a stranger’s eye.  
At 10.15 they were in front of the Old Vic; Nives accompanied Flavia to the pub they had been last night and, while the blonde girl went to give her order, she changes her shoes, putting on again the beautiful but uncomfortable backstrings.  
When she was ready, she stood up and took leave from her young friend:  
“So, I’ll await you at the stage door when you’re finished”, she said, “Meanwhile I go, by now Lorraine should almost be there.”  
“Very well, see you later.”  
Again, Nives took on the track from the pub to the theatre with great prudence, arriving perfectly in time. There was a good deal of line already, but this time Nives was far nearer to the stage door than the evening before. She queued up, but a couple of minutes later she glimpsed Lorraine, even more forward. She joined her rapidly.  
“Hullo!”, she greeted her, surprised, “When did you arrive?”  
Ahead there was only one person, so this meant she was there for some time already.  
“At ten past ten”, answered Lorraine, “The comedy ended earlier than I had thought, then I immediately found a taxi and I arrived here in a flash.”  
The young woman who preceded them, even if she had probably understood nothing because they spoke in Italian, looked at them smiling. Aware that they shared a common passion, the one for Richard Armitage, Nives and Lorraine beamed back, feeling almost like accomplices.  
“Great”, commented Nives, “Come on! This time we’ll manage it!”, she added emphatically, struggling to keep her voice low. Lorraine nodded with enthusiasm, she too.  
Meantime the line was growing and both thought it had been a stroke of luck that Lorraine could arrive so early.  
Soon after Flavia, brandishing her cell phone and ready to shoot the yearned picture with the actor, joined them. Nives chose it this way, because the girl was more used to her mobile than to Nives’ camera; even if the quality of the image would be surely lower, it was anyway good enough.  
At 11.15 the artists began to exit quietly, one or two at the time. Some of them were halted for an autograph, which they gave gladly, probably quite surprised: after all, they knew perfectly that people were there for Richard Armitage and not for them. On the other hand, Nives mused, all of them were amazingly good and deserved to be rewarded with the audience’s recognition.  
Two young women arrived at the stage door and addressed the door attendant.  
“We are Richard Armitage’s friends from LAMDA; we have an appointment with him”, Nives heard them say. She almost laughed aloud: this was the most banal excuse they could think of, she thought. Sure enough, the attendant didn’t blink:  
“I’m sorry, I don’t know anything about it”, he answered placidly.  
“But he’s expecting us”, one of the women insisted, but the door attendant shook his head:  
“I’m sorry”, he repeated, “but I can’t authorize you because I didn’t receive any instructions.”  
“I understand”, answered the woman, unperturbed, “I don’t want to argue with you, you’re just doing your job. I give a call.”  
Nives observed her taking out a cell phone and call, and then she handed it to the door attendant, who spoke briefly and nodded, finally giving back the mobile. He knocked at the door, which opened from the inside, and the two young women entered.  
Nives found herself envying them to death: evidently, they were really friends – or at least, acquaintances – with Richard, and could see him privately. Oh how would she like to have such an opportunity… She sighed: dreams, dreams, only dreams…  
Minutes went by, became ten, then twenty. By now, the actors had ceased to exit: probably they were already all gone, except him. Nives cursed his two friends: couldn’t they just choose another evening to come and see him??? The heels were tormenting her badly, but she grind her teeth: she was there to deliver a present to her favourite actor, as well as impossible love, she would not yield!  
At last, at a quarter to midnight, Richard exited, as usual closely followed by his bodyguard. An excited whisper went through the crowd. Immediately the young woman who was ahead of Nives, Lorraine and Flavia presented the theatrical programme for him to sign, at the page where he appeared with Samantha Colley, and then she asked for a photo. Richard consented gladly and the girl made them a selfie with her mobile phone, then she thanked him and he went to Lorraine, who handed out the picture and received his autograph.  
Finally, it was Nives’ turn; she took in her breath and looked at him from down under. She thought confusedly heavens is he tall!, then she beamed and threw out the phrase she prepared and repeated thousand times by herself:  
“Congratulations, Mr Armitage, you’re doing an incredible job.”  
Distracted by a movement behind her, Richard hadn’t recognized her; but now he looked at her and his heart made a leap. She had come back!  
That same afternoon he had asked Mrs Taylor if he could receive Nives’ e-mail address, but she denied it to him due to privacy reasons. She had however accepted to send a message for him, which he was thinking to write down the next day, Sunday, the only day off he had until his job in The Crucible was over.  
Except that he needn’t to do it anymore: she was there, in front of him…

  
“Oh thank you!”, he exclaimed, flattered by her compliment. He already received a lot of them, but stated by her, it was something different. He lowered his gaze, presuming Nives wanted another autograph, and saw she was holding a red bag. He remembered that the night before she talked about a gift.  
“I brought you a present from Italy, may I give it to someone for you?”, Nives asked him, clarifying in this way that she would deliver it to other hands, if he wished so.  
“Sure”, Richard answered her, and took it personally out of her hands. Doing it, he brushed her fingers. Nives felt an electric shock. Of at least thousand volts.  
“I hope you’ll like it”, she managed to say, hoping her voice would sound normal, but she couldn’t suppress a slight tremor, “May a take a picture with you and my friend here?”  
Richard quickly handed over the bag to Bob.  
“But certainly”, he answered with a beam, oblivious he was sending this pretty brunette’s heart on fibrillation. Barely noticing her friend closing in on his other side, he put his arm around Nives’ shoulders, and was thrilled to feel her reciprocating by putting her arm around his waist. He appreciated the light and discreet way she did it, not like some fans who unashamedly cling on him as if they were relatives or, worse, lovers.  
“Is that your camera?”, he asked, seeing a blond girl raising a mobile phone to frame them.  
“Yes, exactly”, he heard Nives confirm. The shoot was quick and the blond girl smiled at him thanking him with a nod.  
Already over, thought Nives with emotion, sorry but euphoric.  
“Thank you, Mr Armitage”, she said to him, pulling away – even if she would have liked to stay glued to him forever.  
“Thank you”, the actor answered beaming, with the exquisite courtesy which was his characteristic. With no clue where such an audacity came from, Nives blew him a kiss. Richard’s smile grew even wider; surprisingly, he bent toward her.  
“Don’t go away, wait for me”, he said in a low voice, urgently; then Bob dragged him away to the following fans.  
Nives just stayed there like frozen, exactly like the night before, but for a totally different reason. She glanced at her friends, her eyes wide.  
“What is it?”, Lorraine asked, concerned: Nives had such a dazed expression she thought she was going to faint.  
“I… I think he asked me to wait for him…”, Nives stammered, utterly shocked. It was Lorraine’s turn to froze open mouthed:  
“What?!”  
“I… I can’t believe it”, said Nives, faintly, “It’s not possible, no, come on, I’ve surely just dreamt it…”  
“But he had told you something”, intervened Flavia, who had seen for sure the actor bending down on Nives and talking under his breath. The older woman shook her head, feeling stunned:  
“I’m sure I’m mistaken”, she resolutely stated, “With all the noise here I’ve understood it all wrong…”  
“You can’t be sure”, Lorraine slowly objected, “What if you understood it right? Stay here: if when he comes back he ignores you, then you’ll know for certain that you were mistaken, otherwise…”, she beamed radiantly, “you’ll have Richard Armitage all for yourself!”  
Nives broke into a laugh, which almost hysterical tone made her repress it immediately.  
“Well, be it as it is, I hope he hurries or else these heels will end up killing me for good”, she asserted in a trembling voice, trying to be ironic. The other two chuckled.  
“We’ll wait for you there”, said then Lorraine, pointing across the street, “If you were mistaken, we’ll head back to the hotel together; otherwise, we’ll look at you entering with Richard, envying you to death, and later you’ll come back on your own – if you’ll come back”, she added mischievously. Nives playfully slapped her arm.  
“What are you talking about? I’m not going to sleep with him!”  
“Well, if he asks you, don’t turn it down!”, Flavia recommended jauntily  
“Oh come on you two, stop your Pindaric flights! How much will you bet that I misunderstood and he said something completely different??”  
“Let’s see”, grinned Lorraine, then she and Flavia crossed the street and stopped where they had agreed.  
The wait seemed endless to Nives, but later she would ascertain it was only fifteen minutes. Richard reached the end of the line, then Bob made the usual announcement for the ending of the thing and the two of them came back. Nives almost didn’t dare to look at him, her heart in her throat because she was terribly afraid her supposition to have made a blunder was true; but when Richard reached her, she heard him say distinctly:  
“Thank you for waiting… please, come with me.”  
She swallowed, but her mouth was completely dry. She lifted her gaze with an incredulous smile, meeting his extraordinary cerulean eyes, which were looking at her, waiting. She moved like in a dream and went in front of the actor, stepping through the stage door.  
She didn’t hear the astonished whisper of the crowd, nor saw the cheerful gaze her friends exchanged across the street, both very happy for her.

“Can I get you something to drink?”, Richard asked Nives. She needed a moment to comprehend the question and answer with what sounded like a squeak:  
“Yes, thank you.”  
“What do you like?”, he asked kindly. He saw her very thrilled, and her thrill thrilled him. No fan, ever, had made him feel like this.  
Nives thought frantically, but her mind was empty.  
“Sherry”, she managed finally to say. She would prefer something stronger, possibly a whisky, but she didn’t want to look like a drunkard. Furthermore, by empty stomach a spirit like that one wasn’t exactly recommended.  
He addressed Bob:  
“Could you please go to the Pit Bar and ask them to bring to my dressing room a sherry and a beer?”  
“Sure”, answered the dark skinned man. He was surprised Richard invited a fan to enter, it never happened in the by now innumerable nights in which he accompanied him out; Armitage wasn’t for certain someone who indulged in one-night stands. He decided the actor must have his good reasons and did as he had been asked for.  
Richard escorted Nives in the backstage and got her into his dressing room, which was quite a mess because he always changed hastily; the day after the theatre’s staff would take care of it, cleaning and tidying up.  
She was her taking off her coat and he was a bit disappointed to notice that a black jacket, hemmed with golden lace, concealed the romantic bustier he was struck with the night before; however, outside it was quite cool, obviously she covered up more than inside the theatre.  
He freed a chair from his stuff and offered it to her, and then he took a seat himself.  
Now that she was there and he could talk to her, he realized he hadn’t a clue of what to say. If he would tell her about the odd sensation he felt some weeks ago, sitting on the seat she sat on the night before, with all probability she would think he was crazy.  
It was her to break the silence:  
“My name’s Nives”, she said, unaware he already knew it, and she gave him politely her hand to shake. He took it:  
“Nice to meet you”, he said, and then he bent over and kissed it. They made him often play the ladies’ man onscreen, but in his true life he wasn’t at all that kind of man; however, in that moment he used his recitative experience to try and impress her. Maybe he already did, or maybe not: he couldn’t know it for sure.  
He saw her blush and was touched: she didn’t look like a particularly shy person, but evidently she wasn’t a cheeky one, either.  
“I am very impressed you came from Italy to see me”, he said, than he thought the phrase could sound arrogant, “Um, or I hope you came for me…”  
He’s really adorkable, thought Nives suddenly touched, remembering the pun between adorable and dork. Despite his self-confidence, due to over twenty-five years spent in the show business, Richard Armitage was well known for his modesty and for the easy way you could embarrass him.  
“I wanted very much to meet you”, she answered openly, “and from Venice, London is just a couple of hours’ flight away. Moreover, to see this awesome play of Miller performed by you… well, this alone was worth the entire journey”, she concluded, repeating Lorraine’s words of the previous night.  
Her frankness was charming, thought Richard, delighted. He liked this girl more and more.  
“Venice?”, he repeated, “Now this is a town I’d like to visit…”  
She beamed:  
“If you’ll ever come there, I’d be glad to be your personal tourist guide”, she joked, a sentence she wrote also in the card she gave him with the present. He nodded:  
“Great! So maybe you could take me out of the usual tracks, letting me see the true Venice…”  
Ha, I wish you would really come to Venice, Nives thought, not truly believing his statement, which surely had been meant only out of simple kindness. She caught sight of her red bag behind him, laying on a coffee table, which someone evidently had brought there while the actor was outside with his fans.  
“I’d be very glad if you would look at my present”, she said, “If you have time for it, that is…”, she added, afraid to look to impertinent.  
Richard turned in the direction her gaze was pointing and saw the bag.  
“But sure!”, he said, taking it. He took out a carton box, neatly wrapped in a green ribbon; there was also an envelope.  
“Um, that’s a card explaining what it is”, Nives said hurriedly, “and there’s another one where I tell you how and where I met you, artistically speaking…”  
“Well, as you’re here, you can tell me in person”, Richard pointed out smiling, while he unravelled the ribbon.  
Nives felt her ears burn. By all the deities of the Olympus and of the Valhalla, was she really there, speaking eye to eye with Richard Armitage?? She thought about asking him to pinch her, but it seemed a very silly thing.  
Richard opened the box and took out an accurately wrapped object: apparently, it was something fragile. Therefore, he began carefully to take out the packaging and finally he hold in his hands an elegant oval casket, made of white wrought ceramic.

  
“Magnificent!”, he exclaimed, struck by the beauty of the object, simple and exquisite at the same time.  
Nives felt skyrocketing.  
“It’s a ceramic of Nove/Bassano”, she explained, “One of Italy’s most prestigious ceramic schools, along with Faenza and Capodimonte. Even the pope has ceramics of Nove, and it may well be that also Her Majesty the Queen Elizabeth has some.”  
“Really a wonderful object”, commented Richard sincerely, “Thank you from the bottom of my heart… It will make a superb impression at my place.”  
Nives beamed: she couldn’t ask for more, knowing her present would be in his house.  
Richard opened the lid and noticed a card in the casket.  
“Um, that is my secondary present”, Nives hastily explained, “I know you love chocolate, like me it is, and so I thought about the fabulous handmade pralines manufactured by a confectioner I’m friends with, but then I read your tweet about Justgive and I made a donation instead…”  
Richard set down the casket and took out the folded paper, opening it to read. It was the donation receipt, by the name of Nives Nardini, for the Anthony Nolan Foundation which he supported through Justgive; the amount was cancelled, a very elegant gesture which showed both modesty and good taste.  
The more he spent time with her, the more he liked this Italian woman, the mused.  
He smiled at her:  
“Thank you”, he repeated, “also in the name of the Anthony Nolan Foundation. It’s very important to me: you were really very kind.”  
For you, this and more, thought Nives, feeling like melting in front of that glorious smile. Along with his clear blue eyes, a colour which made a resounding contrast with his dark hair, and his warm baritone voice, it was his smile which made her irremediably fall for him.  
Naturally, she was in love with an idea – the idea she made up on Richard Armitage – and with some of the characters he played. She didn’t know the man behind the actor, except indirectly through interviews and pieces, and therefore she couldn’t know how much her idea corresponded to reality. However, up to now she hadn’t been the least disappointed or surprised, except for the fact he invited her for an eye-to-eye meeting. Knowing his discretion, this had amazed her.  
Somebody knocked on the door; Richard invited to enter and a waiter came in, holding a tray with the asked drinks.  
“Thanks, Will”, said the actor, “You can put it there and please add it to my bill, like usual.”  
“Very well”, Will answered, doing as he was instructed, “Good night, ma’am, sir…”, he concluded, disappearing through the door.  
Nives simply nodded toward him, both to thank and to bid him goodbye.  
Richard took the sherry and handed it to her. Accepting it, inevitably Nives’ fingers brushed his, as it happened earlier with the bag; and, like earlier, the young woman felt a high voltage electric shock.  
She was completely unaware that Richard felt the same, earlier and again now.  
Feeling a bit embarrassed by the way he was reacting to Nives – as if he was a teenager in the middle of a hormonal storm! – Richard took his glass and raised it in a toast.  
“Cheers”, he said, but then he thought better, “To our encounter.”  
Nives felt hot and wished she could take off her jacket, but in that precise moment, holding the glass of sherry, if wasn’t possible; and anyway, he could mistake it for a pert attempt to seduce him. Yeah, like she had any possibility…  
She thought about a way to reciprocate the toast with a formula she read on The Lord of the Rings; Richard was an admirer of Tolkien’s masterpiece – that was the reason he had been so enthusiastic to play Thorin Oakenshield in Peter Jacksons’ movies – and the would probably recognize it.  
“A star shines upon the hour of our meeting”, she said, touching her glass to Richard’s. Again, the actor’s smile, who recognized the phrase, made her stomach flutter.  
They drank.  
“You’re a Tolkien fan, you too?”, Richard investigated.  
“Immensely”, Nives confirmed, “Since I was sixteen, as I wrote you in the card.”  
“Oh yes, the card”, he recalled, “You said it spoke about your artistic encounter with me… how did it happen?”  
“Thanks to Thorin Oakenshield”, Nives told him smiling, “To tell the truth, I cordially detested the Thorin in the book, but you and Jackson were able to give him a deepness that lacked in Tolkien’s work, and it ended up that… well, I fell in love with Thorin the moment Balin says There is someone I could follow; there is someone I could call king”, she confessed, forcing herself not to drop her eyes to make him understand she was speaking about the character, not him. Not entirely, at least…  
“A very touching line, indeed”, agreed Richard without blinking. He was used to fans in love with his characters; only, this time he would have liked that this particular fan to feel an interest for him, the man, not an alter ego of his…  
“When later I looked for other works of yours”, Nives went on, taking him off that train of thoughts, “I realized I already saw you: some years ago, I watched the first season of Robin Hood, where you played Guy of Gisborne… but I didn’t notice you!”, she shook her head laughing, “The fact is that you were one of the bad guys of the situation, and normally I hate the bad guys; furthermore, I’ve always been crazy about Robin Hood, so I had eyes only for Jonas Armstrong!”, again, she laughed at herself, making Richard smile, but he felt a sting of jealousy for his blond colleague, with whom he worked for three years on that successful BBC series.  
“And now, what do you think of Guy?”, he couldn’t help and investigate.  
“I bought the DVDs and re-watched the first season, and then also the other two”, Nives told him, “and I realized I had been very superficial: Guy is a baddie with a conscience, very different from the Sheriff of Nottingham. Of course, I fell in love also with Guy”, she admitted laughing, “and in the end, when he dies, I cried hard. And then again when Robin dies, too. Hence I hated the way the show ended!”, she concluded beaming. Again, Richard smiled, too, this time more sincerely. Very well, she cried also for Robin, but even if she declared herself crazy about this character, she just admitted to have fallen for Guy…  
“Then I watched also North and South”, Nives went on with more and more enthusiasm, “which I adored. Obviously I would have liked very much to be Margaret Hale”, she declared jokingly, referring to the female protagonist who fell in love, reciprocated, with Richard’s character, John Thornton, “And then, I bought the DVDs of the three seasons of Spooks you were in. Lucas North was a really good character, but I hate the way they transformed him in the third season, also because I don’t think it’s very plausible that a man who endured prison and physical and psychological torture for eight years and continued to be faithful to his Country, and who seeks even suicide to not betray it, in the end reveals himself as a terrorist and a killer…”  
She shook her head with an air of complete disapproval. Richard grinned and nodded, but he didn’t reveal he agreed completely: out of professional convenience, he couldn’t say something like that.  
He took another sip of his beer. In the photo he had signed for her, he glimpsed also other characters.  
“And then, who else did you like of my characters?”, he asked.  
“As Harry Kennedy in The Vicar of Dibley you made me double over with laugh”, she disclosed to him, “I think you are a really good light comedy actor, and remember that it’s far more difficult to make people laugh, than cry…”  
Richard nodded:  
“You’re perfectly right, that’s why I appreciate particularly your compliments”, he declared.  
“Anyway, I left as the last one the character you played whom I prefer”, Nives smiled, “Strike Back’s John Porter. I always had a thing with men in uniform”, she smiled with an auto-ironic air he appreciated greatly, “but it’s mostly because you were able to give an impressive human dimension to a character who could just be a ruthless war-machine. I adored the relationship he has with his daughter, ad an example. While, again, I detest completely the way they got rid of your character at the beginning of the second season… I understand that you had to go away to play Thorin Oakenshield, but they could have really found another way!”  
Again, she shook her head, this time indignantly.  
Richard felt very flattered: Nives appreciated all those characters for the same reasons he appreciated them, too.  
“Did you already see Into the Storm?”, he asked, referring to the last movie he played in, which was released in theatres for some weeks now.  
“Certainly”, she confirmed, “I don’t like catastrophic movies, but I liked this one, and not only because you’re the main character”, again, she smiled laughing at herself, “but also because it gives a clear message regarding the respect we must pay to the environment, a topic I feel strongly.”  
“Me, too”, Richard revealed, “and it was precisely for this reason I accepted to play in this movie.”  
“Oh!”, she said, taken by surprise, “I didn’t know it… congratulations.”  
There was a moment of silence.  
“Well, me too, I must congratulate you”, Richard said then, “for your English: it’s really good.”  
Nives beamed feeling a bit embarrassed, as usual when somebody praised an ability of hers. Furthermore, her English could even be good, but surely not perfect like someone who was native.  
“Thank you, Mr Armitage…”  
“Oh, call me Richard”, he invited her; he didn’t like too much formalities.  
In Italian, it was equivalent to be on familiar speaking terms with someone, mused Nives, thrilled. Many fans call their idols by name, but she didn’t intend to do so, thinking it not correct; but now it was him who exhorted her to do it.  
“Oh… well”, she whispered, “That is, thank you, Richard. I studied it at school, but later I had the chance to improve it by journeys and readings, and then many DVDs in their original language, Star Trek, Star Wars, The Lord of the Rings, and now naturally The Hobbit, too”, she concluded smiling. Richard thought that, even if her tooth were a bit uneven, she was gorgeous when she smiled, because she lighted up, and lighted up everything around her, too. She was a very positive person, full of life and enthusiasm, the type of person who is always able to energize the others and make them feel better.  
They heard a knock on the door: it was Bob.  
“The taxi’s here”, he informed Richard. Not having received counter orders, he went on as usual, calling a car as soon as the fans scattered. He didn’t think Richard would spend the night with the brunette in his dressing room, he would eventually bring her at his place; supposing this was his purpose, which he, knowing him as he did, continued to believe improbable.  
“Thanks, Bob”, said Richard, putting down his empty glass and standing up, “It’s very late, we should go. Can I take you to your hotel?”  
Nives had stood up, too, placing her glass side by side with Richard’s. His question surprised her pleasantly.  
“Thank you, you’re very nice”, she accepted. Yeah, like she could think of refusing to prolong as much as possible the company of her idol…!  
She moved to take her coat, but Richard preceded her and helped her to get it on. Nives wasn’t used to such chivalrous attentions; furthermore, coming from him, she felt terribly flattered and thrilled, and she almost forgot her little purse.  
They went back to the stage door and went out, finding a taxi, one of those black, traditional London ones; the driver was waiting for them with open door.  
They got in and sat down on the large rear seat.

  
“Where’s your staying?”, Richard asked.  
“The Days Hotel Waterloo”, she answered. The actor repeated it to the driver; while the taxi started, he realised all of a sudden that the time with Nives was almost over. He didn’t like it at all.  
“How long do you stay in London?”, he asked, trying to sound casual.  
“I leave on Monday afternoon”, she answered. She, too, felt the separation loom over them like a black shadow.  
“So you’re staying only tomorrow”, he pondered, hiding his displeasure, “What… are your programmes?”, he enquired.  
“Oh… like yesterday and today, just go around in London and sightsee”, answered the Italian shrugging, “You know, it’s the first time I came here and I thought to look at the most famous things, just from outside, because I haven’t got much time; then another time I’ll come back to explore better.”  
Richard hesitated only a moment.  
“I’d like to see you again”, he threw himself headlong, in a totally atypical way for him, at least with a woman who was virtually still a perfect stranger to him. So, how long did they talk? Half an hour?  
Well, it had been very atypical that he invited her in his dressing room, too, after having barely exchanged three phrases…  
Nives felt her heart leap up to her throat and swallowed convulsively, while for a brief moment her sight went black.  
Richard had just asked her for a date?  
She had to be dreaming. It couldn’t be real. It was surely a dream.  
“I… would love it”, she stated in a whisper. She wasn’t able to speak louder, she really couldn’t do it.  
Richard realized he had hold his breath awaiting for her answer.  
“Great”, he said softly, “Would you like to see Windsor Castle?”, she nodded with enthusiasm, “Fine, so when can I come and pick you up?”  
“Anytime”, she answered, “Even if I go to bed very late, I will anyway get up quite early. You tell me when it’s most convenient for you.”  
She had no idea how his schedule was; considering that it was almost 1 a.m., if he used to do like Lorraine he would sleep until 10 am.  
Richard evaluated the distance between the flat he rented and Nives’ hotel.  
“At 10 would it do?”, he asked. He would gladly sleep a couple of hours less than usual: he wanted to be with Nives as long as possible, he wanted to know her enough well to understand what it was that drew him to her and, and above all, why he felt that odd sensation, like predestination, which made him feel at the same time anxious and euphoric.  
“Very well”, she accepted, while the taxi was already slowing down to stop in front of the hotel entrance.  
Richard got off and offered his hand to help her. Unstable on her stiletto heels, Nives was very grateful for his assistance and moved cautiously.  
The actor accompanied her to the glass door.  
“See you tomorrow, then”, he took his leave, “Good night, and sweet dreams.”  
He kissed her hand, again; her heart went haywire and she blushed like the first time.  
“You too”, she managed to breathe. Even if she would have liked to drown in those sky-blue irises, she forced herself to turn and enter, picking up all her strength of will not to stagger because of the emotion… and for her aching feet, too, due to the damn high heels.  
Through the glass of the door, Richard watched her going away, feeling a strange emptiness in his heart. He found himself hoping to fall asleep quickly, so that the hours that separated him from the moment he could see her again would pass faster.  
Hurriedly, he got back on the taxi and told his address to the driver.

Entering her room, Nives found Flavia and Lorraine waiting for her.  
“Well, what are you doing still up?”, she asked, even if she could perfectly guess it, “It’s over 1 o’clock in the night!”  
“Think we could sleep!”, Flavia snorted, getting up from the bed where she and Lorraine where laying, watching TV, “So, did he kiss you?”  
Nives burst into laughter.  
“Oh come on, don’t be a fool! We only talked…”  
“Oh yeah, for sure”, the blond girl grinned, jokingly: she didn’t know Richard Armitage well, but he didn’t appear her the type of man who looks for a one-night-stand with a fan who had a crush on him.  
“Of course we did only talk!”, Nives got upset, ready to defend her idol and take up the cudgels for him, then she saw the amused faces of the other two, “Oh, stop laughing at me, you’re very bad…”, she concluded, chuckling.  
“So, come on, tell us, what did you talk about?”, Lorraine enquired.  
Nives sat down on her bed with a sigh of relief and began to take off her backslings.  
“About his characters, what I liked of them”, she reported, “and about my present. And… he’d like to come to Venice!”, she concluded with enthusiasm.  
“Ohhh!!”, Lorraine sighed, “So you’ll be his tourist guide!”  
“I suggested it, yes”, Nives laughed, “but I don’t know if he said it just to be kind… Anyway, tomorrow…”  
She stopped, only to keep her friends on edge.  
“Tomorrow what?”, asked Flavia, eagerly.  
“Richard and I have a date!”, Nives answered triumphantly.  
“Uuuhhh!”, Lorraine and Flavia exclaimed together, “Really??”  
“Yes, really… I can’t believe it, either… He asked me how long I was going to stay and, as he learnt we leave in Monday, he asked if I had any programmes for tomorrow. I said simply go around in London and then he said he wanted to see me again and proposed me to visit Windsor Castle…”  
“WOW!”, exclaimed Lorraine, who visited it some years ago, “How nice!”  
“What time does he come to pick you up?”, Flavia asked almost at the same time.  
“At 10.00.”  
“Well, then I’ll say it’s time to go to bed: you must sleep enough, Nives, tomorrow you cannot present yourself to Richard with dark circles under your eyes…”  
“Ah, I won’t be able to sleep a wink..”, mumbled the older woman, suddenly worried.  
Surprisingly, instead she slept very well.


	3. Sunday, September 7th, 2014 (morning)

**Chapter III: Sunday, September 7 th 2014 (morning)**

****

 

As foreseen, Nives woke up before eight o’clock.

As there were over two hours until the date with Richard, she stayed idly in bed for half an hour, before she decided to get up and head to the bathroom. She had a hot shower, then, wrapping a towel around her body, she returned to the bedroom, where meanwhile Flavia had awoken and opened the curtains. Outside, the sky was a little foggy, but it had been like that the other two mornings, too, and the forecast said it would be fine weather also that day.

“Good heavens, what shall I wear, now?”, Nives groaned, looking disconsolate to her meagre collection of clothes. Except the evening outfit for the theatre, she had only some t-shirts, her jeans and the sneakers. _From so hot to so not_ , she thought, depressed.

“I’ll take care of that”, Flavia came to her aid; she rummaged in her suitcase and took out some clothes, “Put on these”, she said, handing her a long burgundy t-shirt, with a heart-shaped neckline and wide lace sleeves; in the front it was shorter than behind and it went with black leggings. The length and shape of the t-shirt hided Nives’ hips as she, even in her target weight, had quite generous thighs. 

“And I recommend that incredible bra which gives you _bionic tits_ ”, Flavia joked. Nives laughed and did as she suggested: actually, that bra – which costed a considerable sum – modelled her in a way, she looked like having a fourth size instead of her third.

Nives’ thousand-pocket bum-bag – which she had humorously nicknamed _Eaga Beeva’s skirt_ because it could contain an amazing amount of objects – wasn’t apt to this attire, but Flavia came again to her aid, offering her purse.

Unfortunately, because she had two sizes more, the blond girl couldn’t lend her the black ballerina flats which matched this outfit: Nives had to do with her own sneakers.

At last, Nives sprayed her neck and wrists with the intriguing vanilla and white musk perfume she used the evening before. She wondered if Richard had smelled it, and if he had liked it…

The young woman examined herself in the mirror, not differently as she had done two nights ago, while she was preparing to go to the Old Vic.

“You’re gorgeous”, Flavia assured her, “Richard will be enchanted today, too.”

“Yeah, of course”, muttered Nives, picking up her hair into a simple ponytail, a hairdo which made her look just a little older than Flavia; at least, as long as one didn’t notice the light wrinkles around her eyes, signs of a person who, in her life, had never been afraid to laugh or cry.

At last, the two friends went downstairs to breakfast. This time Nives opted for a continental breakfast because, for a change, she had her stomach knotted up.

Like she was sixteen and this was her first date…

 

Richard got up at 8.30, two hours earlier of his usual schedule since he began performing in _The Crucible_ , which made him go to sleep always much later than midnight, but he wanted time to refresh and eat his breakfast in no hurry, before he went to fetch Nives at her hotel.

He showered and then he trimmed carefully his short beard and the moustache; they were integral part of his character, John Proctor, and they suited him well, but he couldn’t wait to cut them, because he preferred much more to have none. He had to endure still one week only, and then his job with the Old Vick would be over.

While he prepared his breakfast – not a full one, because he wanted to take Nives for lunch in a nice restaurant he knew in Windsor – he ruminated on the odd sensations which brought him to do what for him was a rash act, that is, to invite a fan and speak to her face to face, and then even ask if he could see her again. He had always avoided acting like this with his fans, because you can never know – maybe she was a psycho, as happened to his good friend Lee Pace some years ago – but with Nives it was different. It had been partly because of her amiable and discreet behaviour; not that he had never met other amiable and discreet fans, but with none of them had come that inexplicable sensation of fatality, of destiny, he felt since he sat on that particular seat. Was it all just in his head?, he wondered, slightly concerned. It was not him, acting like this; however, for a long time now he had realized that, if you let a chance slip away, you’ll regret it, sometimes even bitterly, and because it already happened too many times in his life, he decided he would never let a chance pass by without seizing it. It’s better to repent something you have done, than regret something you didn’t do…

He ate with an eye at the clock on the wall, keen for the time to pass and the hour would came to head for the _Days Hotel_. Wanting to be on time, he checked on Google Maps the travel time, giving it five more minutes more for the traffic.

When the time came, at last, he got on the Rover sedan he rented for the period he would stay in London, and started.

The journey seemed unending, even if it was perfectly in the scheduled time and the traffic less heavy as he had feared. He was pleasantly surprised seeing Nives waiting for him outside, both because she showed punctuality – unlike some women who liked being waited for – and because in this way she saved him from the astonished gazes of the employees and of the possible clients in the hall.

Her welcoming smile broadened his heart.  

 

Nives glimpsed at her mobile phone for the nth time, to see what time it was.

“There are still ten minutes”, Flavia observed. The older woman’s agitation – biologically, Nives could be her mother – amused her, but above all it touched her: what Lorraine said was absolutely true, sentiments do not have an age. If Nives was now nervous like a teenager at her first date, it was anyway perfectly comprehensible: for heaven’s sake, it was _Richard Armitage_ , not whatever British boy!

“In my opinion, he won’t come”, Nives said.

“Why shouldn’t he?”, asked the blond girl, surprised.

“He’ll come to his senses and ask himself what the hell he thought yesterday night, to walk up to one like me…”, the other one whispered in a bitter tone. Flavia felt her heart shrink: she knew how much Nives already suffered because of love, with her husband who left her without a valid reason, only because he got tired of her, and how much now the woman was emotionally vulnerable. This was the cause of her pessimism in sentimental topics, which made a jarring contrast with her otherwise extremely optimistic character.

Then the girl frowned.

“One like you?”, she repeated, “What does that mean? That you don’t measure up to him?”

“Oh come on now, I am a _Miss Nobody_ , in comparison to the women he normally sees…”

“…to none of whom he asked to go out after just half an hour talk!!”, Flavia cut her off. Nives snapped her mouth shut: she didn’t think about that. There was nothing to reply to it.

“Well, be it like it’ll be, in a few minutes we’ll see who’s right”, she muttered anyway, “I wait for him outside, so he mustn’t endure the dazed faces of the people inside here.”

“Good idea”, approved Flavia, “Break a leg!”

In Italian, this saying sounded _stay in the wolf’s mouth_ and the traditional answer was _let it die_ , but Nives didn’t like it, because she loved that proud animal and she didn’t feel to wish it ill.

“Hurray the wolf!”, she answered therefore with a tense smile and exited. Flavia instead went back to her room, waiting for Lorraine – who had a schedule very similar to Richard’s, for the same needs – to come and fetch her to go out together and stroll in the streets of London.

Nives rested on one of the wooden tables outside the hotel’s entrance, feeling her anxiety growing out of measure. She was terrified at the idea to be let down by Richard: she wouldn’t bear it. Rationally, she was very aware she had built a myth in her mind, that he could be very different from what she imagined him, even if so far he didn’t disregard any of her ideas on him, and that therefore she had to be prepared; but the emotional part of her soul overpowered by far the rational one.

 

And then, not even three minutes after she had come outside, there it came a dark grey sedan, and he was behind the steering wheel. His smile seemed to her like the sun coming out from behind the dark clouds veiling her spirit.

She smiled him back.

She approached him while he was getting out of the car; she was so happy she would dearly throw her arms around his neck to kiss him but, obviously, she restrained herself.

“Hi”, he said, “Am I late?”

 _By all the gods of the Valhalla_ , Nives thought stunned, in jeans and t-shirt he was _amazing_ ; but, after all, he had that kind of physique by which he was amazing with anything he would wear.

Or _not_ wear, as for that, it flashed through her mind.

She felt hot.

“Absolutely not”, she answered, feigning a nonchalance she was far to feel, “Very punctual, instead. “

He looked at her in appreciation.

“Jeez, today they’ll take me for a paedophile”, he commented jokingly.

“What?”, Nives uttered, not understanding. Seeing her evident bewilderment, Richard’s smile broadened, while opening the car door for her.

“You look like a teenager, while I’m over forty”, he explained.

“Oh!”, she stuttered, reciprocating weakly his beam; not used to such gallantries, she got in the car feeling a sense of unreality. Was she _really_ getting in a car with Richard Armitage, or was it rather another of her many dreams about him…? Like the night before, she would pinch herself, but she restrained herself, thinking it improper.

Perhaps later.

Thus, if it really was a dream, she could at least enjoy it to the fullest.

Richard went around the car and got in, and then he engaged the gear and went back to the street.

“Thank you for waiting for me outside”, he said, introducing the car into the traffic.

“I just thought this way you could avoid the people gawking at you”, Nives smiled, “and even any asking for photos and autographs… I think you’ve got enough at the stage door each and every night.”

Richard addressed her a grateful smile:

“Thank you”, he repeated, “I do it very gladly, because after all my success is due to my fans, but I admit it is sometimes really tiring.”

“You aren’t a successful actor _only_ thanks to your fans”, she replied vivaciously, “but also because you have an incredible talent. I… well, to say I’m impressed is really an understatement, after I have seen you perform live. You… you weren’t _you_ , you were John Proctor, in all respects, down to the bottom of your soul. While they were bringing you out, toward the gallows, I cried like… um, I don’t know how you say it in English, in Italian we say _to cry like a fountain_.”

“Very effective”, Richard commented, “In English it’s _to cry out one’s eyes_ ”, he paused shortly, “I… saw you, as a matter of fact”, he admitted, “Actually, I have seen you immediately, on the beginning of the play, when we came out with the chairs. Your bustier was bright like a headlight”, he smiled, “It was impossible not to notice you.”

Nives blushed. She thought about it, actually, being white an unusual colour for an evening outfit; also, satin reflects every little sparkle of light, and the spotlight hit her more than once. 

“Um, I admit I hoped it, that you’d notice me”, she confessed. He appreciated her sincerity, again completely charming. He shot her a quick glance: his natural modesty brought him to believe hardly being the object of desire for so many women, even if for years he had wide and constant proof of it.

“Really?”

She reddened even more.

“Well, you know, I fervently desired to meet my idol and possibly to impress him enough to make him remember me, emerging from the crowd of adoring fans who surround him… Maybe you know him, his name’s Richard Armitage.”

He burst into laughter hearing her talking about him in third person. She was a woman with a great sense of humour, and of auto-irony, too. A talent he appreciated much; indeed, it was one of the qualities which some time ago, during an interview, he listed as essential for his ideal woman, along with love for food, lightness of life and a bit of naughtiness.

His laugh was something she didn’t hear often, in the roles she had seen him in, which, except for _The Vicar of Dibley_ , had been all highly dramatic; Nives felt very pleased to be the cause of it. It was a marvellous laugh, heartily, and it thrilled her. 

“And now that you met him, what do you think of him?”, Richard investigated, talking, he too, in third person. As soon as he had expressed the question, he was surprised to realize he was holding his breath waiting for her answer.

Nives looked at him with an impish air.

“He’s even better than I thought him”, she declared. He took on that _adorkable_ air of his that was so characteristic to him when he received some compliment and that made her want to smother him with kisses.

“Um, thank you”, she heard him mutter. He didn’t blush, but Nives thought he wasn’t far from it. She too, felt a bit embarrassed: the game was going to become dangerous…

“Oh, talking of it”, she said to cut the air, “I’m with a Facebook group of fans of yours, who asked me to express their support, love and admiration to you.”

“Thank them very much”, answered Richard, “Well, if you like, I give you an autograph with an inscription for them.”

“Thanks, you’re very kind.”

“Oh, for such a trifle…”

He was so adorable, thought Nives. How was it possible not to fall in love with such a man?

Then she considered again her thought and felt a cold shiver: she had just thought _man_ , not _actor_ or _character_. Oh good heavens, no no no, she thought in a moment of panic, _she couldn’t_ fall for Richard Armitage! She had no hope… it could be acceptable as long as it was about one of his characters, she anyway knew it was only a fantasy; but to fall for the man, for the real person, in flesh and blood…? No! If she wanted to keep her mental health, ab-so-lu-te-ly NOT!

And moreover, there was all this gossip about him being gay, or at least bisex, and currently with his ex-colleague from _The Hobbit_ Lee Pace. None of the two involved persons had ever confirmed it, but then, not even denied.

Anyway, should the story be true, his interest in her was pretty much unexplainable, except in case it was simply curiosity and fondness, therefore excluding automatically some – at any rate wholly improbable – love interest.

Sensing her sudden discomfort, Richard wondered if he had said something wrong. He couldn’t think of anything, so he tried to distract her with a casual remark:

“We need about forty-five minutes to get there, maybe a bit more, if the road is congested. Then to visit the castle we have to consider from two and a half to three hours. Usually there’s a long line, so I thought about buying the tickets via web, in this way we’ll enter immediately.”

Nives stirred, recovering from her dismay:

“Good idea”, she approved, “I always do it, when possible. For instance in Venice, if you want to get into the San Marco cathedral and in the Doge’s Palace without staying hours in line, it’s the only way.”

Later she would ask him how much she owed him for the ticket, and if he insisted in paying for her – she expected it, from such a gentleman – she wouldn’t embarrass him by insisting, but would simply pay for lunch: she was a passionate supporter of the sex parity and she acted in consequence.

“There must be a heap of things to visit, in Venice”, Richard commented.

“Oh yeah; but also in many other towns: Treviso, Padua, Vicenza, Verona, only to name the biggest ones nearer to where I live. Not to mention Milan, Florence, Rome… Consider that Italy is the Country which has the greatest number of UNESCO sites in the world.”

Richard nodded:

“Yeah, I read it somewhere. I want to visit Italy thoroughly since forever… also for the cuisine, I love pizza and pasta.”  

“You don’t know what you are talking about until you try them on place”, vivaciously returned Nives, who had ascertained that, very often, what abroad is asserted to be Italian cuisine is only a poor and approximate imitation; all of her foreign friends, once they had eaten at her, agreed, “You should try my spaghetti with duck ragout, or the salted codfish Vicenza style, with a good red Tai wine from the Berici Hills… I _adore_ cooking, you know.”

Richard shot her an amused glance:

“What is it, an invitation?”    

Nives felt her ears burn and reacting to it, she burst into a laughter:

“Oh, well, why not? If by chance you come into my neighbourhood…”, she shrugged, pretending casualness; but the sole thought of Richard Armitage lunching at her place made her shiver. And not because she was cold.

He returned his gaze to the road. She adored cooking, eh? This meant she loved food. Another of the qualities he preferred in a woman.

He nodded in his characteristic way, tilting his head a little sideways and curving his lips in a smirk.

“Then we have an agreement”, he stated.

That simple sentence made Nives’ heart leap into her throat. _Stop it!_ , she told herself harshly, _Stop building castles in the air!_ How much realistic could it be, that he would come to her place? One in a billion, maybe…

“I didn’t think Windsor Castle could be visited”, she said just to say something. Richard cast her a surprised glance:

“All the royal residences can be visited”, he revealed, “Even Buckingham Palace and Holyrood Palace in Edinburgh… didn’t you know?”

“No indeed”, she confessed, taken aback, “I wanted to visit London for a long time, but for only four days I didn’t programme visits because they take many hours, therefore I didn’t enquire about the royal residences… Well, all the better so, I adore sightseeing castles and palaces!”

Her almost childish enthusiasm touched him; he thought that Nives was a very sunny person, cheerful and in love with life. Not only her smile, but her personality, too, enlightened everything in her surroundings.

There was a short, comfortable silence between them, and then Richard said:

“Well, I was thinking… You know much about me – after all, most of my life is public, because of my job – but I know virtually nothing about you…”

He left the sentence unfinished, however it was plain he was inviting her to tell him about herself.

“You’re right”, Nives admitted, “It doesn’t seem fair, actually. I’ll see to fix it… Well, let’s start from the beginning… I was born on November 29th, but I won’t tell you the year, I’m too vain!”, she laughed, with the auto-irony he liked so much and that once again managed to get a smile out of him, “I’m a Sagittarius with ascendant Cancer, which means a rather complex personality: fire zodiacal sign, dominant planet Jupiter, which gives a – evidently – _jovial_ personality; half human being and half animal, therefore sometimes I’m rational and sometime on the contrary I’m instinctive. On the opposite, ascendant in a water sign, dominant planet Moon, which sometimes makes me moody, this means when my Moon is wrong – which is an Italian idiomatic expression meaning to get up on the wrong side of the bed – you better leave me alone, but then it passes quickly…”

Richard was listening to her very attentively, greatly appreciating her liveliness and her auto-irony; he had the feeling that he could stay and listen to her for hours without getting bored.

She continued, unaware of the thoughts passing through the actor’s mind:

“I was born in an industrial town of about forty-thousands inhabitants, about one hour drive northern Venice, but my first memories go back to Zurich, where my parents had moved for job; there I attended the primary school in German language and I began to study French. Then at twelve I returned to Italy and continued my studies, and I began with English…”

“Excuse my interruption… are you telling me you speak four languages?”

Richard’s voice expressed amazement.

“Um, technically five, because Venetian, from a linguistic point of view, is a different idiom than Italian.”

“Jeez! I know a bit of French, learnt at school, and some Russian and Italian I learnt because of my job, but I can’t really tell I speak them fluently…”

She laughed at his astonishment:

“Well, each one has his or hers own talent: me, the languages, you, acting.”

Richard appreciated: without diminishing her own strong point, she reminded him of his.

She was really adorable, he thought.                 

“Well, then we’re even”, he stated, “What else can you tell me about you?”

His genuine interest for her thrilled her more than she could express, to the point she had some difficulty to restart the topic. Afraid she could bore him, she tried to condense as much as possible; she recounted she had been a timid and overweight teenager, then in time she lost weight and – at least in part – shyness; that after school she had begun to work getting ahead well enough; that her favourite hobby was reading, beginning with fantasy of course, but also science fiction, historical novels, history and archaeology essays; that her favourite music artist was Alan Parsons – he, too, a Brit – and that she adored Celtic, native American and _new age_ music. She revealed that she had practised kung fu and tai chi chuan for some years – with no awareness she was profoundly impressing Richard – and went on telling him about her passion for motorcycles, which had led her to own one for a number of years until an accident, caused by a distracted car driver, put an end to that particular hobby because she had been left terribly scared by each and every vehicle with two wheels, even a bicycle.

“The important thing is, you were unscathed”, Richard considered at that point, in an undertone; he realised that the thought he had risked never to meet her bothered him.

“You are one-hundred percent right!”, she returned, nodding emphatically. She had stared death in the face, but she was able to survive, and now… she was sitting in a car next to her idol. What could she ask more from life?

 _That he falls in love with you_ , said a voice in her head, timid but clearly audible.

 _Stop it!_ , Nives responded furiously.

“I bet there’s more…”, pressed Richard. She laughed:

“What is this, a questioning in Lucas North style?”, she asked, referring to his character who was a spy in the British secret service.

“If you like, I can take you to the MI-5 headquarters”, joked he, making her laugh even harder.

“Okay, okay…I like immensely dancing, from ballroom dances to Caribbean, from Irish and Scottish country dance to belly dance…”

“Wait, wait… You’re a belly dancer?”, he marvelled, glancing at her: indeed, with her amiable shape and her soft curves, he could easily imagine her in some fabulous odalisque costume…

“Oh well, I manage it well enough”, she answered; actually she studied for six years, but talking about it felt like a useless boast.

“You know, I’ve never seen a live performance of belly dance”, Richard commented. She felt hot: was it perhaps a subtle way to ask her to dance for him…? _Oh just end it_ , she scolded herself for the nth time, _you’re seeing things that don’t exist_.

“In London there are surely Arabic restaurants which offer entertainment, too”, she said weakly.

“Um, yes I assume so, too”, the actor nodded, “And, what else would you tell me? Are you… married, engaged?”, he enquired, trying to sound casual.

This one was a thorny theme, for Nives; but she didn’t see any reason to hide the truth from him.

“I was married, but it went bad”, she answered in the most neutral voice she could manage to find; but Richard, with the ear of one used to act and to hear acting, caught the bitter note underneath, “Currently I’m single”, he heard her say, and the bitterness was even more evident.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to unsettle you”, he said in a low voice. Nives didn’t expect he would notice her sorrow: normally she was good at hide the pain caused by her loneliness, which she hadn’t sought nor wanted; but Richard was an actor, she pondered, trained to catch the smallest hint in voice and attitude, to be able to duplicate it in the characters he played.

“There’s nothing to be sorry of”, she answered, “You couldn’t know it; anyway it’s water under the bridge, and life is far too beautiful and interesting to live in regrets.”

She loved life, then… and who loves life, doesn’t take it too seriously, but enjoys it. Three of the four qualities he preferred in a woman… _Stop there_ , he thought, _you know her barely, she could be very different from what she appears_ … Yet he wasn’t able to convince himself she wasn’t exactly that way.

“Very wise”, he managed to say at length.

“Well, now you know everything about me”, Nives asserted after some moments of silence, “At least in broad terms.”

He thought he wanted to learn _far_ more about her; he wished greatly to have the time to do it.

They were almost arrived and Richard began to look for a park place. He found it not far from the entrance to the castle, which was surrounded by huge gardens full of centennial trees. Nives, an amateur photographer, shoot a number of pictures of the castle and the park.

 

The building was enormous, the most ancient inhabited castle in the world, which first construction went back to the Eleventh century, and it was the largest, too, as stated in the flyer picked up by Nives at the entrance.

The visit lasted almost three hours; Nives had seen many castles, in her life, including Versailles and Schönbrunn, but Windsor wasn’t less and enchanted her. Nobody pestered Richard – which surprised Nives – and only some amazed glances and a number of smiles revealed that people were recognizing him; but being he clearly into a personal business, they left him alone. Only a young girl made a move to get near, but her mother promptly stopped her. Nives thought that she liked these Brits more and more.

 

 


	4. Sunday, September 7th, 2014: lunch

 

Chapter IV: Sunday, September 7th: lunch

When they exited Windsor Castle it was almost 2 p.m.  
“Are you hungry?”, Richard asked her.  
“I’m starving”, she confessed; she was used to eat much earlier, except when she had a full breakfast, but that morning she had been able to swallow very little, agitated as she was at the idea to meet her idol for a date. On the contrary, now she was hungry like a wolf. What a weird effect this British actor had on her!  
He grinned.  
“I know a good restaurant nearby, it’s only a five minutes walk”, he said, “It has the suggestive name of Bel and the Dragon, referring I think to some Babylonian legend or something like this… anyway, they have great food and a nice setting.”  
“What are we waiting for?”, she asked him vivaciously, inserting her arm under his. It was her habit to walk along in this manner with her friends, and also with her father, so she realized only after a moment that she just did it with Richard. For a split second, she was afraid it bothered him, because she knew that British do not like much physical contact with people they barely know, and stiffened, preparing to withdraw; but Richard laid a hand on hers and, like it was the most natural thing to do in the world, he guided her along the street. Nives’ knees trembled slightly while she walked at his side; more than once, envious gazes bombarded her, coming from women they crossed who, recognizing the actor, saw him in company of this brunette, in which place they would gladly be. Nives understood them completely, because if she would have been in their shoes, she would feel the same.  
Instead, it was really her, at her idol’s side, hanging on his arm! Again, a sensation of unreality pervaded her: it wasn’t possible, it was a dream… she was dreaming since yesterday evening and she didn’t wake up. And she didn’t want to wake up ever again…  
The building of the Bel and the Dragon exhibited the typical English country architecture, cream coloured plaster and fixtures in dark walnut wood. It was possible to eat outside, too, but Nives preferred to go inside: it was a nice sunny day, but she didn’t like to eat on the side of a street, with all the cars passing by at only a few yards distance.  
The interior was full of light, furnished in a modern style but with an eye to tradition, and it alternated dark colours to brighter ones, creating a pleasurable contrast; the parquet floor added warmth to the atmosphere.

  
A blonde woman met them.  
“Good afternoon, Mr Armitage, ma’am”, she greeted them, “We were waiting for you: your table is ready, please follow me…”  
Nives’ surprise lasted only a few moments: of course, if Richard booked the tickets for the castle by the internet, he surely made the same with the restaurant. And given the absence of any surprise in the maître’s voice, it wasn’t the first time he came here.  
Passing through the tables, more than one turned to look at Richard’s tall shape, some amazed, some dubious; but, again, luckily none did bother him.  
They went upstairs, where they were taken to a little table prepared for two, placed in a corner, a bit apart from the rest of the room.  
Nives was about to move the chair, but Richard preceded her and, with the perfect gallantry of times past, he made her sit down, then sat in front of her. The maître left them with the menus.  
“Call me when you’re ready”, she invited them.  
The Italian glimpsed at the offered dishes and saw many interesting things; but as she wasn’t familiar at all with British cuisine, she wouldn’t know what to order. She laid down the menu; Richard, noticing it, looked at her a bit surprised:  
“You already made you choice?”  
“No… the fact is, I don’t know English cuisine, therefore I confide in you.”  
He addressed her that incredible smile of his, which made her heart rate increase each time she saw it on screen, let alone live.  
“Thank you for your trust, Nives”, he said, and she thought her name never sounded better on somebody’s lips. Oh come on, you’re without hope, he!, she criticised herself; Remember, he’s probably gay, but she couldn’t help it: even if she was trying hard, it was simply beyond her.  
“So, let’s see… meat or fish?”, he asked.  
“What’s more typical in this area?”, she counter-asked him. He nodded:  
“I see… so let’s be it meat. And considering you told me you’re starving, let’s take also a soup, and then a dessert…”, he suggested with his typical amused little smile.  
He called for the maître and ordered a parsley and parsnip soup with pumpkin seeds, then a pickled and grilled loin with baked tomatoes and mixed vegetables. As for the dessert, they would think about it later.  
“Drinks?”, the woman asked.  
“Wine or beer?”, Richard asked Nives.  
“If we were in Italy, I’d say wine”, answered she smiling, “but in England I drink beer.”  
The maître rewarded her with a pleased smile; Richard, too, felt content she appreciated British specialties.  
“We have all of the Londons: Ale, Pride, and Porter”, offered the maître.  
Nives’ eyes widened: the day before she had had Ale and thought it excellent, but a beer called like her favourite Richard-character was the best.  
“I’d say absolutely a pint of London Porter”, she decided with a grin toward the actor.  
Richard barely stifled a laugh and nodded to indicate he wanted one, too.  
“London Porter, he?”, he grumbled when the maître was gone. Nives chuckled:  
“Exactly! I couldn’t resist… and anyway, porter beer is my favourite one.”  
“I generally prefer ale, the fairest beer”, he cast a sidelong glance to her, “Only beer I like fair, that is: girls, I prefer dark.”  
To his delight, he saw her eyes widen again.  
“Oh jeez”, breathed Nives, feeling like suffocating, “Then I’d say I’m lucky”, she managed to reply with a humour she didn’t believe she could be able to fetch. With Richard, she felt strangely clumsy, almost shy. She was never shy… not until it came to heart affairs. And here, her heart was in serious danger…  
But shouldn’t he be a gay?, she wondered. If he was, why did he flirt with her, even if in a jokingly way and therefore in a not binding manner?  
“Um, do you really mean it?”, asked Richard, feeling he was moving in a swamp full of quicksand threatening to swallow him down; but he put him himself in this situation, so now he had to work it out.  
“Well, only if you, too, think to be lucky that I like dark boys”, she murmured. Darn, she could admit it openly, that she was lost for him. He wasn’t at all a stupid: someone who wasn’t lost wouldn’t undertake a journey from Italy just to see him perform in a theatre…  
She saw him take on that adorable dork expression which earned him the nickname adorkable. He had multiple times stated he didn’t consider himself to be a sex symbol; how could it be that a man of his age and experience was still so humble not to believe to be the object of desire of thousands, no tens of thousands of women, she included? And, of course, of many men? Ah yes… he was Richard Armitage, she thought, touched: that was simply he.  
For goodness’ sake, he in person was much better than she thought…  
Richard had just been struck by a consideration: by now, he had realized Nives possessed the fourth virtue, too, he sought in a woman: she was naughty, probably a true rascal… He felt a shiver travelling along his spine.  
A waiter arrived and took them out of the mess they put them into by themselves; he placed their beers in front of them and with a greeting nod, he took his leave.

  
“Oh well, cheers!”, said Nives, lifting her pint and speaking the traditional English formula for a toast.  
“Alla salute”, he surprised her by reciprocating her in Italian.  
“Oh? And where did you get this one?”, she asked, intrigued.  
“I learnt it when I was in Caserta filming The Phantom Menace”, he revealed her, taking a sip, “You know, I read the note accompanying your present”, he said then.  
“Thank you for finding the time”, said Nives in an undertone, pleasantly surprised. He made a vague gesture with his hand:  
“That’s the least I could do, considering your kindness… You write you have been struck by my performance with the audiobook Hamlet… well, I wanted to thank you for your nice words. I do my best, when I record an audiobook, to make the reading alive, and according to what you say, I succeeded…”  
“Oh yes, and very much”, Nives confirmed vivaciously, “I knew perfectly how the story would end, but I swear, each of the three times I listened to it so far, I cried out of emotion… Well, by now you know I am a very emotional person and cry easily”, she joked, slightly embarrassed to admit what could be misunderstood for a weakness. However, Richard knew it was something entirely different:  
“You’re a very sensitive person”, he said in a low voice, “and this is really a nice thing, in a world that appears to become constantly more and more cynical and indifferent.”  
She nodded:  
“You’re right, I get moved in front of the slightest thing, very small ones like a sunset, a laughing child, a song… Like, for instance, the other night at the theatre, I was so moved, at the end of the show, that my legs were trembling so much I wasn’t able to get up and give you a standing ovation, even if you fully deserved it.”  
Her admission touched him and instinctively he took her hand across the table.  
“Thank you”, he whispered, “I’m happy you liked me that much.”  
Nives reciprocated his grasp, smiling with eyes sparkling like stars. Feeling lost in those sweet brown irises, Richard felt thrilled; he withdrew his hand and, doing it, he dropped his gaze, noticing a detail, which he didn’t observe until now.  
“Why do you have an arrow painted on your nail?”, he asked intrigued.  
“It’s not an arrow”, Nives answered without thinking, then she bit her lip: darn, now she had to explain what it was, “Um, it’s a Dwarven rune. You know, in your honour, for Thorin Oakenshield.”  
She hoped fervently he wouldn’t ask her which rune it exactly was: there was no way she would tell him it was an R, the initial of his name.  
To her immense relief, the waiter arrived, bringing their first course, the soup; distracted by this, Richard didn’t think of elaborating and they began to eat.  
“Soon your engagement with The Crucible will be over”, Nives commented, aiming to divert his focus on the earlier topic, “May I ask you what are you next projects in the future?”  
“I’ll go to Los Angeles for a movie, a psychological thriller; but I’d really like to continue with theatre,… Macbeth, or maybe Oedipus.”  
“I’d see you really well as Macbeth!”, the Italian stated enthusiastically, “I adore Shakespeare and I adore you, so together you’ll be the absolutely best, for me.”  
She didn’t feel embarrassed for this assertion: after all, he knew she came expressly from Italy to see him personally, she gave him a present, asked for autograph and photo, so he knew she was a great fan of his. If her sentiments for him went beyond this, well that was a different matter, and in truth, she didn’t know for sure, either.  
“Thank you”, answered Richard, as usual feeling slightly awkward when addressed with such enthusiastic praises, but unable to avoid feeling flattered, “But having already performed Shakespeare a couple of times, I’d rather try a Greek tragedy: Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides…”  
Now this was beyond Nives’ culture, ample as it was, so she just nodded:  
“I understand, you want comprehensibly experiment something you never did. But, among the many dramatic roles you performed until now – except Harry Kennedy – you should really try with light comedy. I’d be simply thrilled if you’d perform something of Carlo Goldoni – I don’t know if you know him, he’s a Venetian comedy writer of the Eighteenth Century…  
“Of course I know him”, the actor confirmed, “like other Italian authors: Pirandello, De Filippo, Verga, Monti…”  
Oh well, thought Nives, she should have expected it, from such a meticulous and encyclopaedic actor like Richard, that he’d know even Italian comedy writers and playwrights; she herself barely knew the authors he just cited. Theatre wasn’t in her range of interests, or only occasionally; but she suspected that, after this London experience, things would change.  
“And why not? I’d like a comedy role, too”, he had meanwhile gone on, “Let’s see what I’ll be offered with in the near future.”  
“I’ll stay updated”, the woman smiled, “so maybe I’ll come to see you again. Unless there will be an opportunity for you to come in Italy: some years ago, the Globe theatre company came to perform at the Roman Theatre in Verona.”  
“I’d love to perform in Verona”, Richard stated, “Maybe I’m too old for Romeo and Juliet, but I could do The Taming of the Shrew”, he considered, citing two of the English Bard’s works set in that town.  
You’d do a stunning Romeo, thought Nives, but restrained herself: that was certainly too much, to tell him…  
Meanwhile they had finished the soup and the waiter came to take away their empty plates.  
“Everything’s all right?”, he enquired. He had obviously recognized the famous actor and his and his partner’s satisfaction was an absolute priority, for him and for the restaurant. Think about the prestige of being able to say they had Richard Armitage among their patrons…  
“Yes, it was excellent”, answered Richard and Nives nodded to confirm.  
“Tell me more about you”, Richard exhorted her when the waiter withdrew, “Among the dances you know, is there maybe also Argentine tango?”  
“Um… no I’m sorry”, Nives admitted ruefully; she knew he liked tango very much, “Not yet, at any rate. Unfortunately I never had a partner with whom go and take classes…”, she concluded, shrugging.  
Richard nodded , feeling vaguely disappointed; what a foolishness, he thought, self-annoyed, even if she’d be a perfect dancer, he couldn’t invite her out to dance: Sunday was the only day he could rest, he already got up a couple of hours earlier than usual, now he was spending the day showing someone around instead of relaxing, therefore he simply could not go into the early hours. What a pity she didn’t come to see him next Friday or Saturday, the last shows: after this he’d be free…  
In the meantime, the waiter arrived with the main course, the grilled loin with vegetables. Nives tried it and found it absolutely delicious.  
“The next one who tells me you eat awfully in England, I’ll zap him”, she muttered. Richard arched his eyebrows in a surprised gesture:  
“English cuisine isn’t very popular, especially when compared to the Italian one…”  
“Okay”, the woman admitted, “but from here to say that in England you eat terribly, that’s a pretty big leap. Those who complain, are generally people who demand to eat abroad like in Italy. To those I say if you’re not willing to adapt yourself, stay at home!”, she took another morsel, shaking her head with such a blaming air that Richard chuckled, “I travelled through the whole world and I always found fine food, even in places like the United States, which have a bad reputation, even worse than England”, Nives concluded.  
“Do you travel much?”, he enquired.  
“As much as I can… it’s something I adore to do”, she told him, “The farthest places I’ve been are Australia and Hawaii.”  
“Oh my, Hawaii! I never was there, yet. How is it?”  
“A true paradise… There are other tropical paradises, but Hawaii is something else. Simply the best of the best. Happy those who live there!”  
“Yeah…”  
They ate in silence for a couple of minutes, and then Richard felt the need to pose her a very personal question:  
“Listen… I’d like to ask you something a bit thorny, if you agree to.”  
She looked at him, surprised.  
“Speak”, she invited him, “At most, I won’t answer”, she added with a shrug.  
He gathered up his courage:  
“What do you think of the rumours about me and Lee Pace?”  
There we are, Nives thought, feeling her heart sink, Now he’ll tell me he’s gay and all my fangirl dreams will be shattered. But she would be honest.  
She sighed and answered in a low voice:  
“That if you’re a couple, it’s only your business. And that, if it’s true, it’s really too bad for us girls. Both for you and for Lee: you’re both handsome men and knowing it’d be impossible to conquer your hearts would make millions of fangirls sad. Including me, of course”, she concluded with a smile meant to be cheerful, but which was in reality decidedly miserable.  
Unexpectedly, he laughed.  
“Nives, you’re a wonderful person!”, he stated vivaciously, unaware that her heart was breaking, “I never heard someone accept such a thing with so much grace and promptness.”  
She gulped the lump in her throat.  
“Well, one of the persons I admire the most in the world is a lesbian”, she told him, “and do you know what I told her when she came out to me? Good, this means that you and me will never argue for a man… She told me pretty much the same: that no one did ever accept her with so much promptness and ease.”  
“This confirms that you’re really a wonderful person”, Richard reiterated, brushing again her hand across the table, “and persuades me to tell you yet another secret, because I’m sure it’ll stay between me and you…”  
She nodded:  
“You can count on it”, she assured him, heavy-hearted but sincerely.  
“It’s not true.”  
Nives blinked, slowly.  
“What?”, she muttered, in a perfectly flat tone caused by her bewilderment.  
Richard nodded to confirm.  
“That’s it”, he reaffirmed.  
“But… why?”, she asked, still completely astonished.  
“Both Lee and me decided to let the blabbermouths gossip, in the end what really count are the facts”, Richard answered, frowning slightly, “Both of us think the same way you do, meaning it’s only our business. We became close friends, in the time we spent together in New Zealand filming The Hobbit, and like all friends do, we went out together, sometimes; but I assure you, they weren’t romantic dates”, he grinned, a bit embarrassed, “Lee is bisex, as he himself admits, but I’m hetero, and even if I can objectively think he’s an attractive man, I’m not interested in him that way.”  
Nives realized she had stopped breathing. She therefore resumed it and tried to reorganise her thoughts.  
“But, and the fact you live now in New York, where he lives, too? And that he came to see you twice here in London, in theatre?”, she asked in an undertone, not daring to hope. Hope in what, anyway? Even if he’s hetero, what’s the difference, for me? I cannot hope that… but then again, why did he bother telling me?  
“Actually, I was looking for a place in the Big Apple for a long time”, he answered, “Wanting to make a breakthrough in the movie business, the best opportunities are in the New Continent and it’s useful to have there a base. It’d be better Los Angeles, but I like more New York. As for Lee, he came the first time out for friendship – like I’d do, if he was performing in a theatre – while the second time he had business to do in London and he just took the chance to come and see me again.”  
Nives felt like bursting into a big laughter for worrying so much for nothing; even if she was firmly convinced she would continue to admire him and be his fan no matter what his sexual preferences were, she had to admit that the thought of him being a gay had always saddened her, because knowing him as a hetero gave her at least the chance to dream, even if they were impossible dreams. And dreams were all she had left for too a long time…  
“I see”, she murmured, still unsure about the reason he had to summon this topic, “and I approve that you never spoke out of this: people should learn just to keep on their business and not on other people’s, even if it’s about celebrities like you two. As for me, even if now I know it for certain, I won’t shout if from the rooftops that you’re hetero”, she concluded with a chuckle, “Your business, with me, is safe.”  
“I know”, he said simply, smiling at her in such a way that, as usual, her heart almost jumped out of her chest.  
They resumed eating, and Nives realized she was becoming euphoric again. Calm down, she told herself, It’s not like, just because he trusted you with a secret, letting you know he’s not gay, he’s going to fall in love with you!  
They finished the food and, when the waiter came to take their empty plates, Richard asked to Nives:  
“You still have place for dessert?”  
“It depends on the dessert”, she answered brightly. The actor looked interrogatively at the waiter, who understood and listed:  
“We have apple-pie, rhubarb-pie, blueberry muffins and ice-cream.”  
Richard glanced at Nives:  
“Shall I decide?”  
“Not this time”, she answered winking, “Chocolate ice-cream!”  
Richard beamed, amused: that was notoriously his favourite dessert.  
“Two”, he instructed the waiter, who nodded and went away.  
The actor cast a sidelong glance to Nives:  
“You didn’t joke, last night, when you said you like chocolate.”  
“I never joke about chocolate”, she replied, making a scandalised face, “It’s too a serious matter!”  
He grinned: Nives was really very charming. And very pretty. Maybe not a breathtaking beauty like many women in the show business, but she was definitely pretty.  
“What kind of chocolate do you prefer?”, he enquired.  
“The Swiss one”, she replied promptly, which reminded him she had grown up in Zurich, “and precisely Lindt 70% or 85%”, she moved toward Richard like she wanted to tell him a big secret, “In addition to my confectioner friend, I have another one who’s an ice-cream maker, who produces a dark chocolate flavoured ice-cream which is simply epic.”  
“I must absolutely come and try it”, the actor said, half joking, half not. He adored chocolate ice-cream, but he never tried the dark chocolate type. Not to say it was a good excuse to see Nives again…  
Nives smiled, without taking seriously his assertion, like the one to come to Venice: go figure if he could speak earnestly…  
“And what’s your favourite chocolate?”, she enquired.  
“Belgian, Côte d’Or, me too 70% or 85%”, he answered with no hesitation. Nives nodded:  
“That’s my second favourite chocolate”, she stated.  
The cups with the ice-cream arrived, decorated with a little cookie and a curl of whipped cream; they ate, then Richard signalled the waiter to bring the bill. When it arrived, Nives tried to seize it.  
“I’ll take care of it”, she said, but Richard shook his head:  
“There’s no chance I go out with a woman and she pays”, he said quietly, but firmly. Nives realized that, would she insist, she risked to insult him: she had to remember he was a gentleman from another time.  
“Well, then I thank you”, she said in a low voice, while the actor slipped his credit card in the little tray with the bill, “but it’s not fair: you already put in the car and the tickets. I hoped I could reciprocate…”  
“You came from Italy to see me perform, this seems far more, to me”, he retorted with such a sweet smile she felt like melting then and there. She would have liked to take him and cover him with kisses.  
The waiter returned with the credit card and the receipt, which Richard signed and gave back.  
“Thank you, Mr Armitage”, said the waiter, “I hope you were both satisfied.”  
“Very, thank you”, the actor answered affably, getting up; Nives nodded to confirm, standing up, she too.


	5. Sunday, September 7th, 2014: afternoon and evening

Chapter V: Sunday, September 7th, 2014: afternoon and evening

They exited the restaurant and began to walk; Richard offered her his arm and Nives, gladly surprised, took it promptly.  
“Can we go back to the castle gardens?”, asked she, “I’d like to shoot some more photos…”  
“Of course”, he accepted willingly.  
They therefore went back to Windsor Park, where Nives loosened her passion for the photographic art. At a certain point, they found a very suggestive spot strangely deserted; while she was focusing on a fountain, Richard stepped accidentally into the frame, close up.  
“Gorgeous”, Nives muttered, shooting. Then she thought he didn’t maybe like it that she took a picture without warning, “Whoops!”, she cried, “I’m sorry, I shot you a pic without asking, but it was really a very nice framing…”  
She showed him the image, with him appearing on the left, turned sideways, his eyes cast down and a little smile curving his lips, with the gushing fountain behind him and a triumph of coloured flowers in the background.  
“Wonderful photo”, Richard approved; in his life, he had posed for a considerable number of photoshoots, sometimes frankly boring, position yourself this way or that way, glance here, glance there, and he ended up appreciating much more the spontaneous shoots. Nives maybe wasn’t a professional photographer, but she had an excellent sense of framing, and the light of this image was perfect.  
“Thanks… all the credit to the subject”, she said modestly, “Anyway, I can cancel it, if you like…”  
“And why? Unless you want to sell it to some magazine… but if you keep it for your private use, I have no objections.”  
“Sell it to a magazine?”, Nives cried, shocked, “What a ludicrous idea… of course I won’t! No, I’ll keep it only for private use, don’t worry.”  
“I trust you”, he beamed. He was so handsome, Nives almost zoned out just by looking at him. For some long moments, their eyes locked, while the world around them faded away.  
“I… I’d like to have another photo with you”, whispered Nives in the end, trying desperately to come back to reality, “Again, only for strictly private use, that is”, she added to reassure him.  
“Gladly”, he said, “but only if you send me a copy”, he added with his classic little smile.  
“If you give me an e-mail address, I can send it there as soon as I unload the memory card”, Nives answered, “I don’t know, the one of your agent, for instance…”  
She would never ever ask him his private e-mail… even if she would die to have it. And possibly also his mobile number. And Skype. And go and live with him. Okay, now stop it for good, Nives told herself; she simply wasn’t able to prevent her mind to build castles in the air!  
Not wanting to ask anybody to shoot the picture – to avoid any chattering around about seeing Richard Armitage in friendly terms with an unknown woman, spreading useless gossip – Nives looked for a solid place to position her camera and frame the fountain, finding it on a wooden bench. The framing was low, but if they sat down it wouldn’t be a problem.  
“Let’s sit there”, she said, pointing. Richard did it, whilst she set up the self-timer to fifteen seconds.  
“Ready!”, she exclaimed, hurrying to sit next to the actor.  
Richard, a leg outstretched and the other bent, put an arm around her, bringing her closer to him, and smiled at her. Needless to say, Nives’ heart rate accelerated off scale while she smiled him back, and in that moment the self-timer snapped.  
“Come on, let’s do more””, Richard suggested.  
“You sure?”, she enquired, thinking what was happening was too wonderful to be real.  
“Of course, I want to have a well recorded souvenir of this nice day”, he asserted; the truth was, he wanted to have as many as possible pictures of Nives.  
“Ah, um”, she stammered, having no clue how to understand this statement, and obviously not daring to intend what she would have liked to, “In this case, sit sideways, I’ll do the same on the other side, back to back.”  
He did as she had asked, posing with consummate skill. Nives set up the camera again, and then she mirrored Richard’s posture.  
They ended up taking a dozen pictures, also in funny poses and with odd faces, just to laugh, and so the sense of unreality Nives was feeling – more or less constantly since the morning – almost disappeared; but not completely. And it wouldn’t be possible: not even 24 hours earlier, she would never ever think that such a circumstance could occur, except in the dream world…  
It was almost 5 p.m.  
“What do you think about going and having tea?”, Nives suggested, recalling the typical English tradition of five o’clock tea.  
“Gladly, but to tell you the truth, I’d rather have coffee…”  
Right, she thought, she read about it somewhere; she arched her eyebrows:  
“What, a Brit who prefers coffee instead of tea?”, she pretended to be struck. He looked at her sideways, in a pose he often had on photos, which made her hormones always go wild just that way, so seeing it live was far worse.  
“Don’t tell me that you, an Italian, prefer tea…?”  
“Exactly!”, she laughed, putting away the camera with slightly trembling hands, “But we can just opt for a hot chocolate”, she added with purpose. This time it was he the one who laughed:  
“Of course, let’s go”, he invited her, “I know the right place…”  
Again, he offered her his arm and they set off. They reached the bar in a few minutes and Nives considered the sign.  
“Chocolate Theatre”, she read aloud, “In Italian we say a name, a programme…”, she added, translating literally because she didn’t know the equivalent saying in English.  
“Very appropriate”, Richard confirmed, however without converting, “You’ll see what a spectacular chocolate…”  
The outdoor tables were all occupied, therefore they entered; they found a secluded corner and sat down. A young waitress came immediately; recognizing Richard, she was a bit shocked, and then she smiled at him:  
“Mr Armitage, it’s a pleasure to have you here!”, she stated, “I came to see you at The Old Vic in July and I got your autograph on the programme. My best congratulations for the remarkable job you’re doing.”  
“Thank you very much”, answered Richard, in a courteous but reserved tone, quite different from the one he had used with Nives for the same compliment. The girl stared at him like charmed for some other moments, and then she composed herself again and asked:  
“What can I bring you?”  
“Hot chocolate”, the actor ordered, “Do you like whipped cream on top?”, he asked Nives. She shook her head:  
“No, thanks.”  
“Two straight chocolates”, Richard concluded; the waitress nodded and went away.  
“British fans are always so discreet, like those we met today?”, Nives asked.  
“Yes, only very rarely they are intrusive”, the actor confirmed, “even if sometimes there is also that kind of fan. In the United States it’s much worse, they tell me, at least with the very famous people; for instance, when I’ve been in New York, I never had big problems, but then, I wasn’t that famous yet”, he paused, “And… how are Italian fans?”  
“Very cordial, even familiar”, Nives answered, recalling her own experiences during the Star Trek conventions she attended, where she met some illustrious guests like William Shatner and Leonard Nimoy, “Maybe they’d call you by name and invite you to have a coffee, but always in a respectful manner”, she shrugged, “Then of course there’s always the annoying or cheeky one, but it’s the exception, not the rule, luckily.”  
“You are very respectful”, Richard considered, “but at the same time, you make me feel very normal. You’ve got no idea how much this is… cheering me up.”  
She beamed, pleased:  
“It’s only because until now I managed not to fangirl like there’s no tomorrow!”, she giggled, with that auto-ironic vein characterizing her, which Richard appreciated so much.  
“Really?”, he chuckled, “Why, what would you do, if you’d fangirl?”  
“Well, I could cry out rapturous shrieks each time you speak to me, or turn my eyes into hearts like a cartoon each time you smile…”  
Richard restrained himself to burst into laughter, because he didn’t want to draw attention on them.  
“Turn your eyes into hearts?”, he investigated.  
“Yeah, wait, I’ll let you see…”  
Nives fished her smartphone from her purse and searched for a certain image she downloaded from the internet, where Richard was sitting on a windowsill looking in the distance with a smile, a shot from a photoshoot of the previous year; while on the other side, like in a mirror, there was the drawing of a dark haired girl with an ecstatic face and heart-shaped eyes who seemingly reciprocated the actor’s gaze. Richard examined the image and chuckled.

  
“I cannot imagine you fangirling for me like this”, he whispered. He wasn’t able to imagine anyone, sincerely.  
“Oh come on, Richard”, she said in a low voice, “You don’t think I came all the way from Italy to see you just for fun, do you? The fact is, you are my favourite actor; I like some others, but you… well, you won me over not only with your talent and good looks, but also because, from what I could learn from interviews, you’re kind, generous, caring, in short, you’re a wonderful person. I am very happy to have had the opportunity to meet you and to get to know you a little… I’ll never thank you enough for this glorious day…”  
Her voice trailed off because she got a lump in her throat at the thought that that day would end, in a few hours; she diverted her gaze from Richard’s fearing he would see the tears suddenly welling up in her eyes. I won’t let the thought of the ending ruin the rest of the time I’ll have with him, she thought furiously, live here and now, like they taught you at yoga. Only the present does matter, neither past nor future must condition life: this was the meaning of this assertion.  
Touched, Richard placed his hand on hers, as he did during lunch, and squeezed it gently.  
“It’s me, the one thanking you”, he stated, “You too, are a wonderful person.”  
She swallowed down the lump choking her throat and found again a bit of her wits.  
“Oh, stop it”, she pretended to snap.  
“What?”, he asked, confused.  
“To be so perfect… do you want to make this fangirl’s heart burst?”  
Nives was joking only halfway; if she had been crazy about the idea she had of him before, now she was crazy about what he was revealing himself really to be. May the gods strike him, he was really too much!  
That statement took Richard’s breath away.  
“No”, he said, still speaking in an undertone, “I don’t want your heart to burst. No, of course not.”  
The statement sounded forced even in his ears. Because the truth was another one: he certainly wanted Nives’ heart to burst… but out of love for him.  
But what was he thinking?, he thought, stunned. He barely knew her, after all they met just the night before. Asking her out and spending the whole day with her was already completely not his style; and now he was imagining a relationship between them? However, the bizarre sensation he had felt months ago, sitting on that seat, had come back more than once during the day, and he was feeling it again now. Darn, he wasn’t used to such things, not at all! It was very disturbing.  
“I’m… just what I am”, he affirmed, sincerely.  
At that moment, the waitress came back with their hot chocolates and a small saucer with cookies, which she laid on the table before leaving again.  
Nives took a cookie and tried it; it was very tasty, crumbly and cinnamon-flavoured.  
“Delicious”, she commented. Richard tried one, too, and confirmed.  
They stayed quiet for some moments, and then Nives picked up the subject again:  
“You manage it well, not to let it go to your head. I am more than ever convinced about what I wrote in my letter: persons like you are a gift to the world.”  
Richard felt his face turn hot, and for once, he was glad to have that cumbersome John Proctor beard, because it concealed efficaciously his cheeks, which surely had blushed.  
“Thank you, Nives. It’s the nicest compliment I ever received in all my life”, he stated, sincerely. The highest praises by the reviewer on theatre, cinema and television had never touched him as much as that simple sentence by an Italian fangirl.  
Nives’ cell phone, still on the table, chirped.  
“Who’s texting me?”, she wondered rhetorically, taking it. The text message came from Flavia and simply said Well, did he kiss you? Nives burst into laughter, shaking her head: her young friend was truly incorrigible.  
“It’s my friend Flavia, you know, the one who shot the picture yesterday evening”, she explained to Richard.  
“Is she worrying about me kidnapping you?”, he joked. Well, he wouldn’t mind to take her away and hide in a cottage in the Leicestershire, lost into the English countryside…  
Nives laughed again.  
“No, she wanted only to know how it’s going”, she answered, adapting the truth a little, “As you can imagine, both she and Lorraine – the other friend of mine – are very curious… If you’ll excuse me one minute, I answer her, if I don’t they’ll worry for sure.”  
He nodded, amused.  
We visited the castle, she began to key in, lunched, strolled; now we’re drinking hot chocolate. And no, he didn’t kiss me!, she concluded, adding a prrrrt and an emoticon sticking out tongue. She didn’t mention the photos, because when she had said they would stay absolutely private, she meant exactly this: she wouldn’t show them to anybody, not even to her friends. They were hers, only hers and Richard’s.  
“Done”, she announced, putting her cell back in the purse.  
By now, they had finished both the chocolate and the cookies. Richard glanced at his watch and noticed it was almost six o’clock.  
“It’s time to go back”, he asserted with a sorry face. Nives skipped a heartbeat: only one more hour – the time he needed to get her back to the hotel – and everything would be over.  
She stood:  
“You allow me to buy at least this?”, she asked, indicating the cups. He beamed:  
“Okay”, he accepted. Forcing herself to walk upright, even if she would rather bend in sorrow, Nives went to the register and paid, and then she joined Richard who was waiting for her next to the exit. Again, he offered her his arm and so they headed to the car, parked nearby.  
The journey back to the hotel, as it had been for the outward, was marked by pleasant conversation. During the whole time, Nives hoped it would never end, that possibly a wormhole would send them in a dimension where time stopped, but of course it didn’t happen.  
As they were already approaching their destination, Richard decided he had no desire to end this day and Nives’ presence.  
“If you’re not too tired, we could go to grab something to eat together”, he suggested.  
Tired? To be in his company?, she thought, dazed.  
“I’d love to”, she answered, “Something easy… I’m certainly not dressed up for a fashionable restaurant”, she added.  
“I know a pub on the Thames, the Red Lion, at Chelsea”, he mused aloud, thinking that if was actually an easy, but rather romantic place.  
“I’m up for it”, Nives declared. She would accept even if he suggested the worst hole in London…!  
While the actor was turning on a side street, changing itinerary, she sent a text to Lorraine: I’m going to dinner with Richard, where are you two?  
The answer arrived some minutes later: Dang! You really want us to die out of jealousy LOL We’re at Piccadilly, we’ll stop here to eat. Have fun, but later we want you to tell us everything!!!!  
She shook her head, amused by the thought of the millions of questions they’ll ask her; she put her cell phone away, then the concentrated again on the road. There was a bustle, but there always was one, in London, like in all big towns. Richard drove expertly, relaxed but careful, and let through every pedestrian he saw ready to cross the street on crossovers, a peculiarity of the English drivers Nives had apprehended many years ago from a colleague who had lived for a long while in London.  
“We’ll be there in about fifteen minutes”, the actor informed her, “If you’re hungry, they have an amazing meat pie with beef stew cooked in beer.”  
“Oh no! Not tonight”, Nives refused laughing, “After a late lunch and a hot chocolate with cookies, I’m not much hungry, I’m afraid…”  
He nodded, understanding.  
“Well, then I recommend the baked camembert, it’s delicious”, he suggested.  
“You know well this pub, it seems.”  
“Yeah, I go there as frequently as I can: the owner is an old classmate of mine, from high school, his name’s George.”  
“It’s nice to maintain the friendships from our youth”, considered Nives, thinking about some of hers, like Manuela and Gaia.  
“I agree”, Richard confirmed, “Even if you meet rarely, each time is like only a few weeks have passed.”  
“Exactly, no need to see each other often to be close.”  
They chatted a bit more in a relaxed way, until they arrived. They found a park place at about 300 yards from the pub, so they stretched their legs walking, Nives again at Richard’s arm; it seemed having become their custom, to stroll like that, but she still felt like walking at 5 inches above the ground.

  
They entered the Red Lion and a waiter came immediately towards them:  
“Oh, Mr Armitage, welcome! I call immediately for Mr Bishop.”  
A minute later, a man as tall as Richard, but double so large, joined them.  
“Hey mate, how nice to see you!”, they shook hands warmly, “You brought a friend?”, George added, looking at Nives with curiosity.  
“George, meet Nives. Nives, this is my old friend George”, Richard introduced them. The Italian woman gave her hand to the big man:  
“How do you do, Mr Bishop…?”  
“Just George, my dear: Richard’s friends are my friends”, the other one declared smiling, “I’ve got a corner table with view on the river, if you like”, he added, glancing at the actor. It was the most romantic spot of the pub, and there were even candles on the tables; but he didn’t know it this was the case.  
“Very well”, said Richard, “but don’t get it wrong”, he added under his breath, only for George. His friend nodded, a little perplexed, and accompanied them to the table.  
Like at lunch, the actor pulled the chair for Nives, and then he sat down, this time on the right instead of in front of her.  
“They don’t have London Porter here”, he warned her with a grin. She giggled:  
“Okay, this means I will adapt myself”, she declared theatrically, opening the menu. She saw immediately the specialty Richard had recommended, the baked cheese, which came with a side dish of carrots, cabbage and beets. When some minutes later George came back to take the orders, she asked for that dish, while as a drink she chose cider. Richard signalled simply for two; when George left them, he asked:  
“Do you like cider?”  
“Very”, she confirmed, “I remind you I grew up in Zurich; usually I drank apple juice, but once – I might have been ten – my dad got wrong and took cider instead. After the first glass I felt a bit dizzy”, she smirked, making Richard grin, too, “but I said nothing, and so I drank the whole box of twelve bottles.”  
“All at once?”, the actor joked, making her almost hoot, but she managed to restrain herself – barely.  
“I’ll be back in a minute”, she said, standing up. She asked for the lady’s room, where she freshened up and renewed her eye-makeup. Then she got back to the table, where Richard welcomed her by standing half up. He really was the perfect gentleman, Nives thought, again thrilled; he knew well the etiquette and, even if it’s maybe not fashionable any more, he applied it, making her feel like a lady of old.  
Meanwhile the cider had arrived, therefore they made a toast and took the first sip.  
Time went by too fast for the like of both, but fatefully the dinner ended. Stubbornly, they prolonged it as much as possible, chatting and drinking another cider, but the pub closed at eleven o’clock, and so finally they had to move. They went slowly back to the car, again arm in arm; Richard opened the car door for Nives, then he got in and turned on the engine.  
He drove at a moderate speed, but the journey was still too short.  
When they arrived, Nives suggested to Richard not to enter in the courtyard through the narrow passage and to simply stop in the side street.  
“If you give me that e-mail address, in a few days I’ll send you the pictures”, she reminded him, taking her smartphone. Her heart was beating like a drum, almost painful, and a knot was tightening her stomach, as it had two evenings earlier, when she thought she would see Richard never again; this time she knew it was final, and therefore she felt even worse.  
“I was to remind it to you myself”, he said; he dictated her carefully the address of his agent, clearly enunciating each letter while she was writing on the organizer in the phone, “If you give me your address, I warn Ronald he’ll receive an e-mail from a sender he doesn’t know, so I’ll be sure he won’t bin it without reading it.”  
“Okay, I’ll write it for you because it’s a little weird.”  
Nives wrote swiftly on Richard’s cell phone, and then gave it back to him; intrigued by her statement, he glanced at the note. He recognized the name and smiled:  
“I should have imagined it, that you’d choose the name of a tolikienian character.”  
She forced herself to reciprocate his smile, even if all she wanted to do was to cry:  
“I told you I am a big fan of the Professor, didn’t I?”  
Then she sighed: useless to postpone the inevitable, it was time to say goodbye. The dream was over.  
“What time do you leave, tomorrow?”, asked Richard in a low voice.  
“I go off the hotel at 2.30 p.m.”, she answered, “to be at Gatwick at 4 o’clock.”  
He realized he didn’t know what to say.  
“It was nice to meet you”, whispered Nives.  
“You say it as we should meet never again”, complained Richard, feeling his heart shrink.  
“I’d love there would be other occasions”, she stated; she would give her right arm, to make it true, “but I live in Italy, you in England or New York, and you’re constantly around the world for your job… Objectively, it’s very difficult we meet again. But if you’ll perform again in theatre here in London, or if for any chance you’ll come to Italy, you can bet whatever you want that I’ll come to see you again”, she ended with a smile she struggled to make cheerful.  
She failed completely, because Richard saw distinctively her sadness.  
“You realized a fangirl’s dream”, Nives went on in an even lower tone, fighting obstinately against her tears, “and I will never thank you enough for this.”  
“I am the one who thanks you”, declared Richard, “for giving me a special day letting me feel like a normal person”, he paused, pondering the reality of facts, “Anyway I was serious, when I told you I’d like to come to visit Venice”, he added, “and I took in earnest you offer to be my guide.”  
Nives felt her heart jump to her throat. Her smile became more genuine:  
“Well, if it’ll ever happen, write to me”, she invited him.  
“You can count on it”, he concluded.  
It was useless continuing this torture, Nives thought bitterly. Better put an end to it.  
“Good night”, she said, “Sweet dreams”, she added, remembering the way he had taken his leave the night before.  
“Wait”, he said; he went quickly off the car and opened the door for her. Nives went off and looked at him from down under, again struck with his considerable height.  
Once more, like the night before, she found who knows where the audacity to say:  
“In Italy, friends use to say hallo and goodbye with a hug and a kiss… May I?”  
Richard beamed and opened wide his arms:  
“Gladly.”  
Nives embraced his waist and raised on her tiptoes to kiss him on a cheek. The softness of his beard surprised her: for some time, her husband had a beard, too, but as it was hard and it stung her each time, he ended up to cut it.  
Richard reciprocated, wrapping her in his arms and kissing her on a cheek. He would have liked another kind of kiss, but he felt it was out of place: after all, he didn’t even know if he would see her ever again, and it didn’t seem right to light a fire he didn’t know how and when could burn.  
“Good night”, he whispered in her ear, “and sweet dreams.”  
Slowly, Nives pulled away; she blinked to drive away hear tears and looked for the last time in his eyes – those extraordinary cerulean irises which had seduced her from the very first moment – and then went away with no other word nor turning ever again. She crossed quickly the passageway and the courtyard, and then entered the hall, shot through it almost running and rushed to the lift. While going up, she tried to compose herself: surely, her friends were waiting for her in the room, like the night before, impatient to know the day’s details; it wasn’t only rude curiosity, it was true interest which sprang from true friendship. She couldn’t certainly reprimand them for this.  
********  
Richard looked at Nives going away, feeling his heart heavy like a boulder. He met her exactly for 24 hours, yet he knew he would miss her sorely. He cursed the fate because she wasn’t English – or he Italian, that is – in order to be closer and see each other often. True, Venice was just a couple of hours flight from London, but it wasn’t the same.  
With a sigh full of bitterness and longing for something he didn’t even know how to name, he went on the car and departed.  
*******  
As Nives had foreseen, Lorraine and Flavia were waiting for her.  
“By now, we thought you would spend the night with Richard”, the blondie welcomed her laughing, “We were awaiting a text from you every minute now.”  
“You’re really a cheeky girl, you know?”, Nives answered lively, managing to disguise her discomfort better as with Richard earlier.  
“Well, did he kiss you, at least?”, Lorraine enquired. Nives snorted, feigning exasperation, and then she giggled:  
“Well, you curious cats… yes he did!”  
An exulting cry escaped both.  
“Stop! Before you make up the wrong idea, it was only a kiss on the cheek to say goodbye”, Nives cut off immediately possible naughty comments.  
“O, okay, okay”, Lorraine calmed her down, “So, you’ll meet again soon, right?”  
“Eeehhh… I wish it could be true”, Nives sighed, serious now, “I don’t think so. Unless he’d really come to Venice and asks me to be his guide. My Twitter contact, I wrote it on the note with the present, but frankly, girls, I don’t think it’ll happen.”  
“And why not?”, Lorraine objected, unshakable, “If he feels what you feel…”  
Nives raised a hand to silence her.  
“No, I don’t even want to think about it”, she declares, “It’s simply too great to be possibly true. Our paths crossed, he was intrigued, we spent a very nice day together, but absolutely nothing happened. Moreover, he lives in England, and I live in Italy…”  
“…exactly like Scott and me”, she was reminded by Lorraine, whose fiancé lived in Manchester; they were together for five years, and their relationship didn’t show any sign of weariness in spite of the distance.  
“Yeah, but Scott isn’t a famous actor”, Nives pointed out, “Stop, girls, I’m not in the mood for joking. It has been wonderful like a dream, but like any dream, in the morning it vanishes and don’t leave a trace. Please, don’t persist.”  
Something in her voice dissuaded both to continue on that path.  
Flavia was serious, now.  
“I’d really like that Richard, after all, would get in touch with you”, she said in an undertone, “and that he’d come to Italy to see you again. It would be the most romantic story of the century…”  
“Yeah”, the older woman admitted, “Unfortunately, such things happen only in romantic novels…”, she sighed, “It has been the most amazing day in all my life, but it’s over. Better not think about it any longer.”  
This hushed her friends completely.  
“Well then… good night”, said Lorraine in a low voice, standing up, “You’ll tell us the details tomorrow, if you’ll feel about it. Sleep well, both.”  
“You, too”, Nives wished her, a little sorry for having cut her off like she did, but she didn’t want in any way to nourish hopes she perfectly knew being absurd. Her friend smiled at her sympathetically and left the room.

 

Author’s note:  
Will it end like this…? Let’s see… a bit of patience and you’ll know ;-)


	6. Monday, September 8th, 2014 and following days

 

Chapter VI: Monday, September 8th, 2014 and following days

The day after, Nives and Flavia woke up and went to breakfast; then they checked out and left the luggage in the safekeeping of the reception, before exiting to walk one last time the streets of London, to see other places well-known all over the world.  
They went with the Tube to London Bridge, and then from there they continued strolling to the famous Tower Bridge, which they photographed from many different angles and then crossed to see the Tower of London. While they were there, they noticed the Tower Bridge opening in the middle to let a large boat pass; because the event was relatively rare, an urban legend stated that it was a luck-bringer to catch it. Nives couldn’t help but think ‘I’d like to see Richard again’. She immediately forced herself to drive away that thought.  
The moment to go back to the hotel came too soon, in order to call a taxi and go to Waterloo Station, where they would pick up the bus for Gatwick. Lorraine was waiting for them in the hall; some minutes later the taxi arrived and they left.  
Once at the airport and checked in, they relaxed in the lounge and ate something, awaiting the boarding call. Nives was pestered by questions from her friends, who wanted to know every single detail of her day with Richard, and she told them gladly everything she could remember, because recalling those moments she felt like soothing her sadness. She left off only the photos they shot together in the gardens of Windsor, because they would stay a secret shared only between her and the actor; and his agent, of course, who had to be their intermediary, but he didn’t count.  
The flight was very tranquil; they landed, retrieved their luggage and then went to the car park where Nives had left her car.  
The journey to ‘piazzale’ Roma in Venice lasted 20 minutes; here they left Lorraine, whom her mother and two friends were awaiting there, and then Nives and Flavia headed toward their hometown, where they arrived in about one hour. At Flavia’s, they emptied quickly Nives’ suitcase of the blondie’s possessions and then parted; finally, Nives returned at her place.  
It was only after she had a shower and went to bed that, at last, she let go and cried, shedding the tears she was holding back for almost 24 hours.  
‘Farewell, Richard… ‘

Tuesday, September 9th, 2014

At her office, Nives scanned the autograph Richard gave her on a white sheet, with the inscription for her friends of the Facebook group, copying it on a pendrive. In the evening, she logged in and posted it in the group, receiving lots of enthusiastic thanks from her sister fangirls, as they funnily called themselves.  
Then she saw a private message arriving and checked it.  
‘So, how was your London adventure??’  
The question came from her Facebook friend with the evocative name of Hathor Eagle, real name Beatrice, a young woman from Pordenone; they met on EFP, an Italian website where they both published their fan fictions. Beatrice fangirled for Lee Pace as much as Nives for Richard Armitage; they immediately connected closely and, even if they didn’t met yet, they had begun soon enough to exchange secrets and confidences like true friends, because each one understood perfectly the other one’s sentiments.  
‘Better than I hoped’, she began to write, and then she recapped her three encounters with Richard, omitting only the photos they shot at Windsor, like she had omitted to mention them to Flavia and Lorraine: the definition ‘absolutely private’ included everybody, Beatrice, too.  
Hathor answered with enthusiasm at her friend’s recount:  
‘How I envy youuuuu!!!! I’d like to have the opportunity to meet Lee like you met Richard… but then, who knows if he’d like me enough to take me out, like RA did with you… I think it’ll remain just a dream…’  
‘Don’t give up hope’, answered Nives, whose nickname was Princess Dream, ‘me too, I thought it could be just a dream, yet I realized it. So why shouldn’t you realize it, too?’  
‘Heeee, wishing it were true…!!!! But you and Richard will meet again, right??’  
‘I don’t think so, unfortunately… Obviously, I’d like to very much, but I don’t think it realistic to hope he’s really inclined to come to Venice, or to see me again… Come on, seriously: he’s a famous actor, desired by millions of women, surrounded by super-gorgeous females, how many possibilities do I have, against those…? No, I am happy having met him and spent with him an amazing, once-in-a-lifetime day… I don’t want to build any castles in the air…’  
Beatrice answered with an emoticon showing all her disagreement for the news; but Nives didn’t mean to rise any false expectations in her heart: she already did it too many times in the past and she always had been let down. Therefore, she had no wish to repeat the experience.  
Seeking a refuge from her persisting melancholy choking her throat with a lump, after saying goodnight to Hathor Nives took shelter in the fan fiction she was writing: the adventures of her tolkienian alter ego, Nerwen the Green, the only female Istar, who had been appointed with the task to look for the disappeared Entwives; during her long journey in Middle Earth, she met and fell in love with Thorin Oakenshield – whose performer was obviously his cinematographic one, Richard Armitage – but whose true love was an Elf prince, again performed by the same actor in the character of Guy of Gisborne. In some pictures, Richard seemed indeed to have slightly pointed ears like those imagined by Peter Jackson for his Elves, and therefore, beyond her stratospheric crush for him, it had been instinctive for her to imagine her prince Aryon Morvacor with Richard’s face.  
That evening, she wrote a wonderful love scene and cried out of emotion.

Saturday, September 13th, 2014

It was over midnight. On the kerb of a secondary street in London, a tall figure walked slowly, a backpack on his shoulders, heading home.  
Richard Armitage had wrapped up his job with ‘The Crucible’. After almost three months of plays, one or even two a day, for an amount of more than one-hundred performances, everything was over. He enjoyed one last time the storming applause which rained over him and the whole cast and the standing ovation that, once again, the audience bestowed on him. He had said goodbye with a hug to the director, Yaël Farber, and to all his fellow actors. He had a nightcap with them, they exchanged good wishes for future jobs and the last e-mail addresses and Twitter accounts, and then said goodbye again. Finally, he had exited for another – the last – encounter with his fans. Absurdly, he had scanned the crowd seeking Nives’ shape, but of course she wasn’t there. Dazed, exhausted, he had signed autographs, posed for photos, answered to compliments and greetings, received other gifts. Finally, he had withdrawn; as usual, he waited for Bob’s green light before exiting to go home; but this time he had stopped the taxi only a few minutes later and went off the car, because he felt the need to walk, to move, in the hope to calm down the emotional hurricane raging in his soul. It was the end of a very intense period of physical, mental, emotional commitment; he was aware that he had taken himself to the limit of his strength and that the ending was necessary, but nonetheless he felt a great melancholy, accentuated by the awareness that he had nobody waiting for him at home. He wasn’t thinking about whichever company, though; in that moment, he wished more than ever to see Nives again, feel her arms around him, hear her voice which surely would find the right words to comfort him.

  
Instead, not only she wasn’t there, but he didn’t even hear from her any more. She didn’t send him yet the pictures she had shot in Windsor – he asked Ronald to forward them immediately when he received them – and didn’t know what to think about this delay. Was it possible she had made fun of him? He couldn’t believe it. Surely, he wasn’t infallible on judging people – as anyone – but she seemed to him so sincere, so frank, so… true, he couldn’t believe to had been so deeply wrong. Not this time.  
At length, he arrived at the building where he had rented a furnished flat for the time of his engagement at the Old Vic; he opened the main door, got in the lift and went up to his floor, and then he traversed the landing and entered home. He threw the backpack in a corner and went straight to the bathroom to have a long, hot shower, washing away all the physical and spiritual fatigue. Wrapped in a bathrobe, he quickly dried his hair, and then went to the bedroom, picked up his tablet and switched it on to check his e-mails one last time before going to sleep, in the hope to find news of Nives.  
He immediately saw Ronald’s message and his heart flipped in his chest. He opened the message, and yes, there were pictures attached.  
Holding his breath, he opened the first one.  
It was he, in profile, the fountain behind him on the colourful background of the flowers in Windsor gardens. And then he and Nives, in front of that same fountain, where they had fun posing. He laughed seeing their amusing faces in some shots, and suddenly his depression for the end of The Crucible lost importance.  
Nives had sent also a message:  
‘I think you’re sad because of the end of The Crucible. I hope these pictures will cheer you up. And remember that my invitation to visit Venice is still valid.’ She ended with an emoticon showing a winking and smiling face: as usual, she lightened a statement, which could otherwise be taken too seriously.  
So, that was why she delayed the sending of the pictures: she had presumed he would be downcast and rightly thought that receiving the photos of a beautiful moment would comfort him. Once more, he thought she was an adorable woman.  
He had to see her again.  
And he really wanted to visit Venice.  
He decided he would do something to succeed.  
He looked at the e-mail sent by Ronald, who simply made a forward and therefore showed the original sender’s address. He began to key it, and then he paused. He had two accounts, one professional and one personal. It wasn’t appropriate to write to Nives from the professional one, but neither from the personal one: after all, what did he know about her? Too little to state for certain he could trust her completely, so that if things went wrong, she wouldn’t stalk him with e-mails; of course he could block an unwanted sender, but she could create a new account and continue to badger him. All this thoughts were on a rational level, because on the contrary, on the instinctive level he felt he could trust her. However, he had never been the kind of person to reason with his guts – least of all with his genital organ – and therefore, again, he tried and used his good sense.  
Five minutes later, he had created a new account on Yahoo and used it to send his first e-mail to Nives Nardini.

Sunday, September 14th, 2014

After breakfast, Nives switched on her computer and checked on EFP if there were new comments on one of her stories; she found a very flattering one and cheered up. She answered quickly – she answered always to all comments, even the negative ones – and then she opened her e-mail inbox.  
And her breath caught in her throat.  
There was a sender called ‘rcamitage’.  
The same name Richard Armitage had on Twitter, where the ‘c’ after the ‘r’ was for his second name, Crispin.  
She thought she was hallucinating and rubbed her eyes.  
The writing didn’t disappear nor change.  
It had to be a collaborator of Richard’s agent, she thought, fuzzyheaded. Simply, it couldn’t be him.  
She clicked on the message. The two seconds it needed to open seemed two years to her.  
‘Hallo Nives, I just received you photos and I thank you very much. They are really nice and funny, and I treasure them because they remind me of a glorious day.  
You’re right, I was a bit depressed because of the ending of my engagement at the Old Vic, but these pictures cheered me up, thus I thank you double.  
And speaking of glorious days: I wasn’t joking at all when I said I wanted to come and visit Venice. Now I have some weeks off before going to Hollywood and begin the shooting of ‘The Sleepwalker’, therefore I’d gladly accept your offer to be my guide: let me know when you are willing, so we can organize it. What do you think?  
All the best, Richard.’  
Nives read and re-read the message at least half a dozen times. Then she exited the e-mail, went on Twitter, checked Richard’s account – which didn’t show anything new, though – and in the end, not satisfied, she exited the internet and headed for the living room, where she began to fold her laundry, putting away the few things she wanted to iron: a shirt, a tablecloth, two napkins. After trying to fold neatly a t-shirt for four times, she gave up; she went back to the computer and entered again the e-mail inbox, one-hundred percent sure she wouldn’t fine any trace of Richard’s message because it had been an hallucination… instead it was still there.  
She opened it, and re-read it. She couldn’t bear it anymore: she let out a jubilant shout and immediately afterwards she began to cry out of emotion.  
When she was able to calm down the emotional storm overwhelming her, she began to key furiously to answer:  
‘Hallo Richard, what a wonderful surprise! Sincerely, I didn’t expect you to answer me; not personally, at least. I feel highly honoured for the trust you show me, because I understand well that a famous person like you attracts also psychopaths…  
I’m glad I was able to cheer you up with my photos: I can only imagine how you feel, after so much time spent dedicating all your strength to an extraordinary and demanding play such as ‘The Crucible’ has been, with people whom you have surely established a strong emotional bond with and who now you won’t see everyday anymore.  
Venice in September is gorgeous; to tell the truth, it’s gorgeous at any time of the year. I work full-time 5 days a week, therefore I’m free only on weekends; but I could take one day off, for instance Friday or Monday, in order to let you sightseeing the town easily and in no hurry. At the moment I haven’t any undeletable commitments, thus if you tell me a date, I’ll organize everything.  
All the best…’  
Nives considered the last period, and then cancelled it, exchanging it with ‘Hugs’, in order to remind him that, in Italy, friends used to meet and part that way, as she told him the night they said goodbye.  
Had it really been just the week before?, the young woman wondered, incredulous. It felt a whole year, and at the same time, it felt just one day. She shook her head: she had to be really out of her mind…  
She keyed her name and pressed ‘send’.  
She knew already the wait for his answer would be agonizing, hence she forced herself not to think about it and went to the bathroom to wash her hair: she was expected to lunch at her closest friends’, parents to her goddaughter Marina, now five hears and a half old. They shared a special bond, loving each other much more like siblings than just friends; for her, the only child of her parents, it was a great joy having such kind of friends.  
********  
Richard got up very late, almost at midday; he had slept like a baby, emotionally exhausted after the day before, difficult both on a professional and on a personal level. First of all, the switched on the coffee maker, then the tablet to check if Nives had already answered.  
Seeing her e-mail made him smile happily, a smile that broadened even more while he was reading the message. He answered immediately:  
‘Hallo Nives, if it isn’t a problem for you, we could do next week end already; or else, the one after this, as you are better with your job.  
Hugs, Richard.’  
********  
When Nives came back home, late in the afternoon, after some cheerful hours spent with Francesca and Livio and their little girl, she went immediately to check her e-mails, even if she tried hard to tell herself she had not to feed up too much her hopes that Richard would answer so soon.  
Her heart made a leap when she saw the actor’s answer. It seemed impossible to her that he had nothing better to do than write to her, but then she thought he was probably spending the day at home, resting.  
His words filled her with such a happiness, she felt actually breathless. She noticed he used the same farewell formula as hers and beamed: how great would it be, if she could throw her arms around his neck to welcome him… but no, she decided, she would wait to see how he greeted her: if he would just shook hands with her she would do the same, if instead he would show signs to hug her, she would reciprocate gladly. More than gladly, that is… but even if she would kill to be allowed to cling to him, she would refrain from it. In spite of everything, she wasn’t one of those fangirls who shout and pull out their hair when they see their idols, for goodness’ sake, she was an earnest and sensible woman… yeah of course, who undertook a trip to London just to see her favourite actor and meet him one minute out of the stage door, a very ‘earnest and sensible’ behaviour indeed… she concluded laughing at herself.  
She checked the flights from London to Venice and back; she found one on Thursday arriving at 7 p.m. and returning Sunday in the late afternoon. Considering that she finished work at 6 o’clock and she needed about one hour to get to the airport, it was perfect: they could spend together that evening, Friday, Saturday and a good part of Sunday.  
She thought it rather absurd to make him come to her town and then go to and fro from Venice for three days in a row: considering the costs of fuel and highway, it was cheaper to stay in a hotel near their destination. ‘Possibly not exactly in Venice, goodness knows how much it costs!’, she mused displeasured; then she reminded London and how she found a fine hotel much cheaper than what she expected, even cheaper than the one Lorraine usually went to: she used the comparative website Tivago. Now she did the same and to her surprise she found a superb historical four-star hotel – she couldn’t surely book a two or three-star for Richard! – called ‘Ca’ dei Dogi’ (*), breakfast included, at a reasonable rate, considering the location, that is near piazza san Marco. Being possible to cancel with no expense within two days before arrival, she tried and booked two single rooms: if Richard wasn’t able to come on Thursday evening or if she had trouble at work to get one day off with such a short notice, she would cancel the booking and found another solution; but in the meanwhile she had the two rooms granted.  
She wrote to Richard giving him the details and asking if it was okay with him, counting on confirming everything as soon as she was sure to have Friday off.  
The actor’s answer, who agreed on everything, arrived in less than half an hour; was it an evidence he was monitoring his e-mails, awaiting news from her?, Nives wondered, very thrilled. Well, maybe that day, because he was home resting, like she presumed earlier.  
She skipped dinner, both because she was still sated with the gigantic lunch she had at Francesca and Livio’s, and because she was too excited by the situation. She watched TV, continuing the Sunday episodes of two of her favourite crime series, and then went to bed, but she doubted she would sleep much.

Monday, September 15th, 2014

At her job there weren’t any problems: Nives had a very friendly relationship with her boss, Marilena, therefore she told her she had met an interesting guy in London who wanted to come and see her, and hence she needed Friday off, if possible. Marilena, who had always been sorry for Nives’ loneliness, felt happy for her and didn’t object; thus, during her lunch break, Nives wrote to Richard everything was okay. She gave him also the name and website of the hotel she had chosen, in order to let him see it, telling him that if he didn’t like it she could look for something else; but his answer – which she saw only as she went back home in the evening – was that it was perfect, and the actor added he had already booked the flights she suggested him, confirming time of arrival at 19.15 on Thursday.  
At that point, Nives couldn’t bear to keep everything to herself: she went on Facebook hoping to find Beatrice and, being her there, she wrote to her by chat:  
‘You won’t believe to what I’m going to tell you…’  
Her friend answered just a minute later:  
‘Tell me, tell me…’  
‘Richard contacted me!’  
‘AAAAAAAHHHHHH!!! But this is fantastiiiiiic!!!!’  
‘And there’s more…’  
‘There’s more? You want to kill me?? Speak!!!’  
‘He asked me to be his guide in Venice!!!!’  
‘WHAAAAAAAAAAAT????????? This is WONDERFUL, FANTASTIC, INCREDIBLE!!!!’  
‘Indeed, incredible, you got that right… I’m keeping to pinch myself to ascertain I’m not dreaming or being delirious from some fever due to ‘severe richarditis’…’  
‘Tell me immediately when he arrives or I’ll die!’  
‘Thursday night, and he’ll stay until Sunday evening.’  
‘My goodness, 3 days with him, he and you alone… double room with queen-size bed, of course!’  
Nives chuckled, but then, thinking about it more carefully, she felt hot.  
‘He, I’d wish! No, I would never EVER have the courage to do it, in fact I booked two single rooms.’  
Beatrice sent her thumb down to show her disagreement.  
‘Very well, I understand your discretion, no joke I would do the same; but what do you think it is, the reason why Richard is coming to Venice? For the Rialto bridge? No my dear, you can bet he’s coming for YOU. And as things are this way, a double room would be appropriate, don’t you agree?? ‘  
Nives’ throat went dry. Could she hope…? ‘No’, she told herself, ‘it’d be too good’. Her most romantic expectations had been let down so many times in her life, she didn’t dare to hope any longer.  
‘Too good to be true’, she answered her friend, ‘I prefer not to delude myself. Don’t insist, please… it hurts me…’  
Beatrice paused, evidently pondering Nives’ words.  
‘I understand’, she answered at length, ‘but I’ll root for you madly, know it.’  
‘Thanks… you’re really lovely…’  
‘Afterwards you’ll tell me everything…’  
‘Of course, don’t worry  Just, please, not a word with anyone… let’s respect his privacy.’  
‘Of course, I’ll be tight-lipped, I promise on my beloved Lee’s heart.’  
‘Thanks dear, I know I can count on your discretion… Good night!’  
‘A very good night to you, read you tomorrow!’  
The exchange with Beatrice being over, Nives thought about contacting Lorraine, too, and sent her an e-mail with the news. Soon enough the French-Venetian answered, she, too, on enthusiastic tones, and offered to organize a visit by a glassmaker shop which owner was a friend of hers; Nives thought it a great idea: Murano glassware is highly prestigious, at least like Nove ceramics, and Richard would certainly appreciate it.  
She accepted immediately, and Lorraine answered short afterwards she would let her know on which one of the 3 days her friend Davide would be available.  
Again, Nives went to bed doubting she would sleep, but was proved wrong: if on one side she was highly excited about the extraordinary situation she was living, on the other hand something suggested her an incredible serenity.

 

.

(*) The House of the Doges


	7. Thursday, September 18th, 2014

 

Chapter VII: Thursday, September 18th, 2014

The days had felt like endless to Richard, who found himself suddenly with nothing to do. For a couple of days he slept until late in the morning, but already on Tuesday he began to wake up earlier, and Wednesday he was almost back on human hours, as his mother Margaret used to say.  
Finally Thursday arrived; he had his baggage already done, with easy outfits apt for a tourist, but as on Saturday night he wanted to take Nives out for dinner, to thank her, in some nice place – she had tried to refuse, saying there wasn’t any need for it, but he had been adamant – he added also a suit, nothing too elegant, but anyway not casual.  
He left for the airport well in advance on the schedule, being it impossible to foresee the traffic, and parked his car in the secure parking; then he queued up to deliver his luggage, where he was recognised and a particularly bold fan asked him an autograph, which he conceded gladly. As far as they didn’t become invasive, he liked it that his fans recognised him and asked him for photos and autographs; this was something he would probably never get completely used to and would thrill him forever.  
He boarded among the first ones, having checked in on line, and sat down in his seat; because of his considerable height, he tried always to find seats in the first row and toward the aisle, but with such a short notice, he wasn’t able to find one. Luckily, the business class of British Airways had positively wide measures and therefore he was comfortable enough.  
They took off punctually; the flight was quiet and Richard spent it listening to music on his iPod, trying not to count the minutes separating him from Nives.  
* * * * *  
At work, Nives was so much on tenterhooks in the last hour, she wasn’t able to conclude anything. Luckily it was a calm period, therefore her lack in concentration didn’t produce any harm.  
She began to shut down everything three minutes to six, thus when the clock stroke she already brought the orders in the production department, watered the yucca adorning the entrance counter, cleared her desk and turned off her computer. She dashed out the door, locked it and inserted the alarm, and then she jumped in her car and was off like a shot.  
The rush hour traffic irritated her, but fortunately, the entrance to the highway was not too far, and from there she stepped on the gas. Realizing she was driving too fast, she forced herself to lift her foot from the accelerator and to drive at the maximum permitted speed, without going beyond the limit. Her sat-nav kept reassuring her she would arrive 10 minutes before Richard’s airplane landing; considering he had to fetch his luggage, she thought having more than enough time to park in the quick-time park area, which was the nearest to the airport entrance, and then waiting for him at the arrivals.  
The journey from the highway exit to the airport seemed to her like impeded by a series of clumsy people who drove at snail speed and to whom she addressed her invectives, colourful as well as completely useless and unjustified, because they were simply going at normal speed; but her irritability was hot: she was sure that, should she bite someone, she would kill him like a cobra.  
In spite of all the fears, Nives arrived at the parking place perfectly on time. She parked and went to the arrivals almost running, even if she was aware that, having the flight landed, some time would pass before seeing Richard emerging from the baggage claim; but she felt so excited, she was unable to slow down.  
* * * * *  
The commander announced they were landing; Richard switched off and put away his iPod, straightening the seatback he lowered for a better relax.  
The luggage recovery was quick enough, even if it felt the contrary; as soon as he left the room, he looked around searching for Nives, but he didn’t see her. For a moment he was worried something happened to her, but then he caught sight of her while smiling at him, waiting him to notice her. She wore jeans and a bright blue t-shirt, and had her hair tied up in a ponytail like the day they went to Windsor; and like that day, he thought she looked much younger than he did, even if, as far as he knew, she had to be more or less his equal in age.  
He beamed her back and lifted a hand to signal he had seen her, and then he moved to join her.

  
Nives had seen him immediately, as soon as he had emerged from the sliding door; anyway, it was impossible not to notice his shape, tall and impressive like few others. He cut his beard, resuming the look she liked best, even if he had been equally attractive with Proctor’s beard.  
He smiled at her and she felt like melting. ‘Breathe, Nives, breathe’, she told herself, worried to be about to flop out of thrill.  
Richard joined her quickly and she looked at him from below. Good heavens, this man was so tall…  
“’Benvenuto a Venezia, Richard’”, she said in an undertone, hoping her voice wasn’t too shaky. She realized she had spoken in Italian; she called her an imbecile and repeated hastily in English, “Welcome to Venice, Richard.”  
“Thank you”, he answered. They stared at each other, stock-still; none knew what to do now.  
“Um, didn’t you say that Italians use to greet with a hug?”, Richard asked at length, feeling disappointed because she didn’t move.  
“Ah, well, yes!”, she stammered, caught by surprise. Her knees almost gave way: he just asked her to hug him!  
She stood on her tiptoes and put her arms around his neck; he bent and grasped her, not too tight, just what was enough between friends. He would have liked to kiss her, at least on a cheek, but he was aware that too many people were looking at them, among them someone could recognise him and use a cell phone to capture that private moment and then put it on some social media, where everyone would speculate in a thousand ways, wondering if he was already tired of Lee and their supposed homosexual relationship in favour of this mysterious brunette. It was the price to pay for celebrity, and he accepted it.  
Richard’s arms around her felt the most right thing in the world. Nives closed her eyes and rejoiced in the sensation for some moments, and then, not wanting to look too bold, she pulled away.  
“Did you have a nice flight?”, she asked, starting to move. Richard grabbed his trolley again and strode beside her.  
“Yeah, very quiet”, he confirmed.  
The exit was nearby and after a few minutes they reached Nives’ car, a tiny hatchback which backseat she already pulled down to make room for their suitcases.  
“We’ll have to leave the car in the park before Venice and go the last part of the way with a taxi”, she warned him while turning on the engine; there would have been the bus, too, but Nives thought it rather inconvenient, with their trolleys, not to mention that Richard would have been more ‘exposed’, so to speak, while he surely preferred his visit to Venice would stay private, “Finally, to reach the hotel, we’ll take the boat all the way to ‘piazza san Marco’; from there it’s just a five minute walk.”  
“You mean, I’ll soon stroll through the famous ‘piazza san Marco’?”, asked Richard, thrilled.  
“Certainly”, confirmed Nives, smiling at him: she reminded very well how her Australian friend Annie – the lesbian who made outing with her and heard her answer that they would never argue for a man – had been so touched she almost cried seeing the Rialto bridge and later the saint Mark’s cathedral: probably, also Richard would feel like that. Venice was a dream-town for millions of strangers.  
As Nives turned on the engine, automatically also her car radio switched on; hastily she reduced the volume to keep the music in the background, not disturbing the conversation, and moved the car. After a few moments, Richard recognized the music and smiled:  
“The Hobbit.”  
She beamed her bright smile he liked so much:  
“Yeah, I thought it appropriate…”  
He nodded, pleased: besides the evident homage she was paying to him and his work, he liked Howard Shore’s music very much.  
During the journey, it came to the song he sang together with his colleagues who performed the other Dwarves. Absent-mindedly, Richard began to sing softly, but noticing that Nives was smiling, entranced, he raised his voice and sang at full volume. She glanced at him with such an admiring air, he felt his heart broadening to the point that, would he not have been the professional he was, he would surely stammer.  
When he finished, Nives sighed:  
“Brilliant”, she declared, “I heard you sing this piece ‘a cappella’ in an interview, but live it’s something entirely different… Thank you.”  
She hadn’t dared to ask him to sing for her; that he did it spontaneously thrilled her beyond words.  
“Thank ‘you’ for the compliments… Do you really like how I sing?”  
‘Modest as usual?, thought Nives. How was it possible not to fall in love with such a man…?  
“I always loved much more the baritone rather than the tenor voice”, she revealed, “Warmer, more inspiring, more captivating. Your voice was the third thing I liked the most, about you.”  
Richard glanced at her, intrigued:  
“The third? And what would be the first two?”  
“The first one, your eyes”, she answered slowly, “When you appear the first time, in the scene where Thorin arrives at Bilbo’s, you turn and look at Gandalf and your eyes… I don’t know how you say it in English, but in Italian we say ‘pierce through the screen’”, but she didn’t add he had her nailed on the seat and irremediably enchanted; he nodded to signal he understood the meaning, “The second one, your smile, in the scene toward the end, when Thorin embraces Bilbo. For your voice, I had to wait to watch the DVD in original language, because the one I heard in theatre was obviously the one of your dubber.”  
Again, she didn’t tell him that, when she had heard his voice the first time, she felt her stomach flutter.  
Richard felt delighted by what Nives had told him.  
“Me too, I like your eyes very much, they’re very sweet”, he said in a soft voice, “And your smile…”, he stopped because she was chuckling:  
“Yeah of course, with my irregular teeth…”  
“And what does it have to do with it?”, he said, frowning a bit, “The fact remains that you’ve got a stunning smile and an infectious laugh which I both like very much.”  
“Um, then I think I must thank you”, Nives murmured, struck by his vehemence. She felt her cheeks burn: sure enough, she was blushing. Richard had just paid her a compliment, no, two, she realized. Her heart skipped a beat.  
“Um, here he are”, she announced, glad to divert from these emotions making her heart throb; she slowed down to turn into the side street leading to the park place, just before the ‘ponte della Libertà’ (1). ‘That was close’, she thought: if Richard went on a bit more like that, she would literally melt on the seat.  
The keeper of the park place recognized her because, for many a year now, each time she came to Venice, she parked there, and he greeted her cordially. After parking her car, Nives called the number of the taxi company she saved on her cell phone; the operator assured her the car would be there within five minutes. So it was, and short afterwards they were crossing the long bridge which connects Venice to the mainland.  
Night was falling and the twilight was lingering in the west, while they approached the most romantic town in the world. Enchanted, Richard watched from the car window the lights sprinkling the lagoon.  
“It’s so beautiful”, he murmured.  
“And you didn’t see much, yet”, she smiled, touched by his plain emotion.  
When they arrived in Roma Square, Richard didn’t want to hear anything and paid the taxi himself, and then he insisted on paying also the boat; Nives had to give up.  
“It won’t end here”, she threatened him, pretending to scowl; he just smiled, but he didn’t know that Nives was earnest. ‘Very’ earnest.  
The Canal Grande by night is an extraordinary sight and Richard continually watched around; if he didn’t stay open-mouthed the whole time, it was only because of the proverbial British self-control. He listened avidly to Nives, illustrating the most famous buildings skirting the canal, like ‘Ca’ Vendramin Calergi’ that is the casino, ‘Ca’ Pesaro’ which hosts the International Gallery of Arts, ‘Ca’ d’Oro’, ‘Ca’ Rezzonico’, Grassi Palace, Saint Mary of Health Cathedral, not to speak about the three famous bridges, Scalzi, Rialto and Academy.  
Finally, they arrived at the ‘piazza san Marco’ stop, just after the palace that hosts the famous Venice Biennale. They walked alongside the small gardens called simply ‘Giardinetti’ and reached the columns of saint Mark and saint Todari, adjacent to the splendid Doge’s Palace, all illuminated. This time Richard’s eyes widened, while he admired the marvellous white and pink façade of the palace. They walked beside it, crossing ‘piazzetta san Marco’ until they reached the square with the same name; here, they passed in front of the cathedral; Richard gazed at it, again wide eyed.  
“It’s… stunning”, he said, full of admiration, almost reverence, “I am speechless.”  
“It has the same effect on me”, Nives confided him, stopping a minute to watch at the breath-taking façade, “even if I saw it dozens of times already.”  
They resumed walking, rounding the cathedral and crossing ‘piazzetta dei Leoncini’, and then entered the labyrinth of the ‘calli’, the Venetian narrow streets; Nives didn’t know exactly where the hotel was, not having been there ever before, thus she used Google Maps on her smartphone to find directions. This way it was very easy: they crossed a bridge, went on for some other minutes and finally they were in front of the hotel, an Eighteenth Century palace, which entrance was reachable through a bridge arching over a small canal, or ‘rio’.

  
“But… it’s magnificent!”, Richard cried, enthralled, “I feel like having made a jump in the past.”  
“You’re right”, admitted Nives, she, too, impressed: it was the first time she came to sleep in a hotel in Venice, because until now she hadn’t had the need to stop there for the night. It seemed really that a time machine had brought them back in time for some centuries.  
They entered; the hall was in adequate style with the exterior, even if it had all the modern comforts.  
“’Buonasera signorina, signore’…” (2), the concierge greeted them in Italian; his hair was grizzled and he was very elegant in a dark suit, on the collar a tiny nameplate with his name – Mario.  
“’Buonasera’”, Nives answered, “I’m Nives Nardini, I booked two single rooms.”  
The man checked quickly.  
“Oh, yes, here it is… Please fill out these forms. And if in the meantime you’d give me your documents…”  
Nives translated for Richard, who looked for his passport and gave it to Mario; they filled out the forms while he registered them.  
“They’re two adjacent rooms”, the concierge informed them, in an excellent English, “Numbers 212 and 214.”  
The porter arrived and took their luggage; they followed him, going upstairs to the second floor. Not many hotels in Venetian palaces are provided with a lift, and this one was no exception.  
“You’re hungry?”, Nives asked to Richard.  
“Yeah, rather”, he admitted.  
“Let’s go and eat a pizza”, she suggested, “You’ll see, pizza here in Italy is something entirely different…”  
When she entered her room, Nives gaped: she had seen the pictures on Trivago and on the hotel’s website, too, but live it was ‘spectacular’: the furniture was Eighteenth Century Style, in white painted wood and golden moulding, while the bedcover and tapestry matched the colour, being of a warm gold-yellow. The room wasn’t very large, but the décor compensated amply for the lack of space.

  
Nives placed quickly her suitcase on the specific shelf, opened it and took out her beauty case, the slippers and a short silk nightie. She couldn’t help but fantasize about her and Richard ending up in bed together, even if she thought it really very improbable, and as a joke she chose sexy underwear and nightwear, but she absolutely didn’t count on put them on to let him take them off… unfortunately. She would settle with dreams, as she always did anyway, for years now, that is, since her husband broke up their marriage.  
In the bathroom, she placed her beauty case on the marble shelf beside the hand basin – this, too, in marble – and renewed her make up, and then she used the white musk and vanilla perfume she had in London, which by now became to her synonymous for Richard; finally she changed her t-shirt with a long sleeved one: during the day the temperature were still very mild, but in the evening it was chilly.  
She was still arranging her look, when she heard a soft knock on the door.  
“Coming!”, she said in English, presuming it was Richard; they had agreed to signal in that way when the first of the two was ready. She put on her jacket and one minute later, she exited, finding Richard waiting for her; he had changed, too, wearing now a shirt instead of the t-shirt, with a casual jacket well matching his jeans.  
They went down in the hall, where Nives asked Mario for a good pizzeria nearby; the man suggested her one he knew in the neighbourhood and explained her how to arrive there.  
Exiting, like in Windsor Richard offered her his arm and Nives accepted it happily, feeling again thrilled by his proximity.  
They arrived to the pizzeria in a few minutes; a young brown-haired waiter approached them.

  
“’Buonasera’”, he greeted them with an affable smile, with no sign of recognizing the actor, “Two?”  
“Yes, thank you”, answered Nives. The lad guided them to a small table and left them with the menus. Richard pulled a chair to help her sit – Nives had by now learned to expect his chivalrous manners – and once they were seated, he said:  
“I’d like to entrust to you the choice for the food, like you did with me in England.”  
“Fine”, she accepted, “Meat or seafood?”, she enquired, reminding the same question he had posed her in Windsor.  
“Weren’t we meant to eat pizza?”, he asked, amazed. Nives laughed:  
“Yes of course, but the dressings are countless, and can be based on meat or seafood, in addition to cheese or vegetables.”  
“Right”, the English nodded, “We are in a sea town, and therefore I think seafood is more typical, isn’t it?”  
“Indeed”, she confirmed, glancing rapidly the list looking for a suitable pizza. Soon enough, the waiter was returning to them.  
“Did you choose?”, he enquired.  
“Yes”, answered the young woman, “Two pizzas with shellfish, with only just a small amount of buffalo mozzarella, please.”  
Too much mozzarella would cover the taste of the seafood, as she learned on her own expense; besides, the buffalo mozzarella, put over the pizza after baking, is easier to digest than the normal one, that’s why she preferred it.  
The lad took note.  
“Drinks?”  
“What do you have of white wines?”  
“Prosecco, Verduzzo dorato and Pinot gris.”  
“Verduzzo, half a litre”, Nives decided, “and half a litre still water.”  
When the waiter went away, the Italian stared at her companion and said:  
“Let’s make it clear: tonight I invited you to dinner and therefore I’m going to pay”, Richard tried to answer back, but she raised a hand with an imperious air, “This time I won’t have any discussions”, she admonished him severely, and then she added, grinning to lighten the tone, “I told you, it wouldn’t end there.”  
The actor couldn’t help but grin in turn.  
“Oh, fine”, he surrendered; anyway he would reciprocate Saturday night, when he would take her to dinner in some special place. He would ask Mario as soon as they would go back to the hotel, “You’re a very determined woman, I see.”  
“Well, I try my best”, she nodded, “So, tell me”, she prosecuted, changing subject, “Did you rest, these days?”  
“Yeah, I slept like a log and loafed on the couch in front of TV”, Richard told her, “I was terribly bored, but sometime you need boredom, too, in your life.”  
“You’re perfectly right”, confirmed Nives, “I do the same, when I’m really tired: I take a boring day off!”, she concluded laughing, “What are now your plans? That movie you were hinting at?”  
“Exactly. I’ll go to Los Angeles on the end of September. Then, in December, the ‘tour de force’ for the premières of ‘The Battle of the Five Armies’ will begin.”  
“Do you know we never had a première for Peter Jacksons Tolkienian movies, in Italy?”, Nives asked him, “Neither for ‘The Lord of the Rings’, nor for ‘The Hobbit’. Too bad…”  
“I’d adore to come to Italy”, the actor stated, looking into her eyes, “especially now that I met you.”  
Nives felt her heart fibrillate madly for some moments, but forced herself to calm down.  
“Thank you”, she whispered, “If you could do something, even only publicly declaring you would like to come, it could be useful, who knows…”  
“Unfortunately we actors have little voice in this matter”, observed Richard feeling sorry, “but I’ll do what I can.”  
Instinctively she laid her hand on his and squeezed it gently, grateful.  
“Thank you, that would be great!”, she said with enthusiasm, “If they première in Italy, I’ll come whatever town they’d do it, dressed with my Tolkienian costume.”  
“Are you a cosplayer?”  
“Not exactly: I don’t imitate any character, I’ve created one of my own.”  
“O? And who may that be?”  
“Nerwen the Green, friend and colleague to Gandalf the Grey, the only female among Wizards.”  
“It fits you perfectly”, Richard stated with his little smile, “I’d love to see you.”  
“Well, if the thing with the première succeeds, you can bet I’ll be on the first row to look at you walk the red carpet.”  
“O no”, he contradicted her, “If it succeeds, you’ll be my guest: I’ll ask for a pass for you and you’ll be able to watch the show with me and the rest of the cast and crew who will attend.”  
Nives’ eyes widened while she held her breath.  
“Really?”, she asked, astonished. He nodded:  
“Absolutely.”  
“I’m… breathless, Richard”, she confessed; even if the hypothesis was remote, she felt thrilled more than she could tell. This man was simply ‘too much’…  
Richard was pleased: ‘of course’ he wanted her breathless, not only for this invitation, but possibly for many other things.  
“I’d like very much to meet Peter Jackson”, the Italian went on, in an excited tone, “to thank him for having brought to life – even only on the big screen – Tolkien’s most celebrated works. And Andy Serkis, too, who made such an extraordinary Gollum. Ha, and should Martin Freeman come, warn him that, should I see him show his middle finger, I’ll chop it off, because a classy man shouldn’t make such gross gestures”, she concluded with a frown promising no good for Bilbo Baggins’ performer, who had the reproachful habit to often show his middle finger while they were photographing him. He did it jokingly, certainly not to insult anyone, but Nives thought it awful.  
Richard couldn’t hold back a laugh.  
“Very well, I’ll tell him, in case”, he assured her.  
The waiter arrived with their drinks; Richard quickly poured the wine for Nives and then for himself, and finally, he lifted the glass:  
“I drink to our third…no, fourth encounter.”  
‘And I hope there will be many more in the future’, he added by himself, but didn’t say it aloud: it seemed too bold. Yes, he knew she had a crush, but he wasn’t sure at all if it was for one or more of his characters – after all, Nives had named Porter, Gisborne and Thorin – or if he could hope it was for him personally, the man.  
Nives touched her glass with his, answering the toast:  
“’Alla salute’”, she said in Italian.  
They had a sip, and then Richard observed:  
“I don’t know much of your language, but I guess here they’re not speaking exactly Italian…”  
“True”, confirmed Nives, “here we use generally our local tongue, which is called Venetian.”  
“O, yes, I remember you naming it, back in London…”  
They continued to chat until the pizzas arrived, not very large but richly stuffed; as Nives had recommended, the quantity of buffalo mozzarella was limited.  
After two morsels, Richard looked at Nives and stated:  
“You were perfectly right: pizza, here, is something entirely different. It’s simply sensational. Is there a secret?”  
The young woman smiled with all her 32 teeth:  
“No secret: very fresh ingredients, sure, but above all the fact that we bake pizza only in a wood oven, what is forbidden, abroad. Think that the EU wanted to forbid it in Italy, too, because they affirmed it causes cancer… yeah sure, like our ancestors, who had to bake everything in wood ovens, died in mass of cancer!”, she snorted, showing all her impatience toward the incompetents, “Of course we refused.”  
“Well, should I hear someone complain about something baked in a wood oven, I’ll zap him”, Richard affirmed, repeating Nives’ words about English cuisine. She recognized them and chuckled, pleased and amused.  
They ate, chatting more, until the topic shifted to the past works of the actor.  
“I watched most of the works you’ve been in”, Nives declared, “included ‘Captain America’ and ‘The Phantom Menace’, even if in this last case I had no idea you were there.”  
“I’m not even credited, there”, he considered.  
“Anyway I looked for and re-watched the scene where you appear”, she revealed, winking, “but I still lack various things, especially the older ones.”  
He made a face:  
“I’m not proud of everything I did”, he admitted, “I accepted some jobs only because I had to pay the bills somehow, or because I knew they’d give me some visibility. I don’t regret anything, for sure, but for instance ‘Between the Sheets’ was somewhat – how can I express it – over the top.”  
He was referring to a TV series a bit spicy, but surely very far from pornographic.  
“Never seen it”, Nives declared, “even if in the internet I’ve found many… um… interesting pictures”, she saw him put on his ‘adorkable’ air and hastened to explain, “No, don’t get me wrong: I don’t think nude is in any way immoral, male or female, as long as it makes sense, and in that series it made, because it was about sex and love”, exactly like in her writings, but this she wouldn’t tell him, of course, “The human body is a masterpiece of nature, there is absolutely nothing wrong to exhibit it”, she concluded. Especially if the human body concerned was his, she thought; but she wouldn’t tell not even this.  
Richard eyed her:  
“Are you by chance a naturist?”, he asked, intrigued. She shook her head:  
“No… even if, a couple of years ago, in Majorca I was on a shared beach and being everyone either naked or at least topless, at a certain point I adjusted myself. After all, it was me, the one out of place”, she concluded with a shrug.  
Involuntarily, with his mind’s eye Richard visualized her naked; somehow it felt very irreverent, even improper, and he hurriedly looked for something distracting him from that provocative thought.  
“I was wondering… do you like your job?”, he asked her the first thing that came into his mind.  
“Yes, much”, she answered, “even if, to tell you the truth, my dream would be to be a writer.”  
She immediately repented to have said it: now he surely would ask her for more information, and she had to be very careful not to let anything compromising leak.  
“Dancer and writer, too”, commented Richard with his typical little smile, “And what do you write?”  
“Fantasy”, Nives answered promptly, but remaining on a general; she wouldn’t tell him that her way of writing involved much romanticism and explicit love scenes, but never gross.  
“Knowing your passion for Tolkien, I’m not surprised”, commented the actor.  
“I write also science fiction: I’m a great fan of Star Trek”, she added.  
“I love both fantasy and science fiction”, Richard stated, “I’d be happy to read something of yours, but I think you write only in Italian…”  
“Well, I translated some short story in English, too”, Nives revealed; some of them she could let him read, being adventurous sf with no sentimental nor erotic implications, “If you like, I can send them to you by e-mail.”  
“Yes, please: I’d really like to read them”, he reiterated. Through one’s works, you can get to know well a person, if this person puts in it soul and heart; and something told him that this was certainly Nives’ case, “Have you ever published something?”  
“A novel, three years ago, a fantasy with ucronic historical elements.”  
Richard looked at her, puzzled; Nives realized the last words had been extremely technical and not all knew them.  
“A ucronia is a non-time, like an utopia is a non-place”, she explained then, “You use it to describe a literary genre which speaks about a different historical course than the one we know.”  
“Interesting! I think it’s too long to translate…”  
“Um, well yes”, Nives admitted with a certain regret; that writing, too, contained romantic and sexy elements, as in her style, but not speaking directly of Richard – at the time she wrote it, she didn’t know him yet – she could have him read it. It would be hard to translate, but for him, this and much more…  
“Too bad”, the actor commented. They had finished their pizzas and were now sipping their wine, “I like it”, he stated, referring to this one, “What kind of wine is it?”  
“Verduzzo dorato, translated it could sound Golden greeny, so called because of his golden colour with green nuances, you see?”, she lifted her glass to show it backlit, “Soft, balanced, fresh and sweetish, it has scents of acacia, sweet almonds and violet. Very good match with seafood…”, she stopped because Richard was looking at her with an amazed air; she realized only then she had taken on a professional tone, “Whoops, sorry, I went into ‘sommelier mode’”, she giggled, “You know, I love wine and am lucky enough to have friends who are graduated sommeliers, and who taught me much.”  
As usual, the actor appreciated her sense of auto-irony.  
“I like wine, too”, he said, with no clue she already knew it, “but I’m no expert. My favourite is Pinot noir: what can you tell me about it?”  
“A wine deriving from a very ancient variety of grapes”, she told him, “It seems it has been cultivated for over two thousand years… It’s not very easy for winemaking, it demands great skill”, she tightened her eyes for better concentration, “Colour is a bright ruby red when young, becoming garnet, almost brick-red, with ageing; scent of raspberry and blackberry; the taste varies following the ground it is cultivated: lavender, fennel, truffle, coffee – which explains your preference”, she looked at him laughing, and he smiled her back, nodding amused, “It matches well a great variety of dishes, especially those of the area it is produced in, but generally red meat, some types of seafood, and aged cheese.”  
“Unbelievable… I learned more about this wine in one minute than in a decade I know it”, Richard stated very humorously.  
The waiter came back to take the empty plates.  
“May I bring you something else?”, he enquired.  
“Dessert? Coffee?”, Nives turned the question to Richard.  
“An espresso, please”, he answered, curious to try the true Italian coffee.  
“An espresso coffee and a large one, please”, the young woman said to the lad, who nodded and left.  
“I think I won’t eat pizza ever again outside Italy”, declared Richard, “It was simply too good, there is no comparison.”  
“You’re right there”, she confirmed, “If you want to know it, I avoid carefully eating Italian abroad”, she confided to him, “because when I tried it, I have always been disappointed. Much better eat local things: I never repented it. Not even in England”, she concluded laughing.  
Short afterwards, the coffees arrived and the actor appreciated the espresso, too.  
“I drink it always, when I happen to go to a Starbucks”, he said, referring to the well-known international coffee bar franchise, “and I think it’s excellent, but here it’s something else.”  
“The espresso was invented by us Italians, precisely in Turin at the end of the Nineteenth Century”, Nives told him, “therefore no one can brew it better than us!”  
He looked at her admired:  
“But you’re a living encyclopaedia!”, he declared, “Better than Google!”  
She broke out in a loud laughter, but promptly stifled it in order not to attract attention from other patrons; until now, they had been left alone, maybe because none recognized the actor, but it was better not to tempt fate.  
“Indeed, I had a t-shirt with the writing ‘Fuck Google, ask me’!”, she said after calming down her laughter, “but I damaged it and had to throw it away. The fact is, I am a very curious person and I want to find out thousands of things, also to research for my writing, because I don’t like to write about what I don’t know. But I don’t have a good memory and I forget many things …”  
“Well, I don’t think so…”  
They finished their coffee and Nives, preoccupied that Richard could be tired – even because he was one time zone ahead and for him it was already midnight – she asked immediately for the check, which she paid with her credit card. Finally, they got up and went back to the hotel.  
As they arrived at their floor, Richard escorted Nives to the door of her room.  
“Sweet dreams”, he wished her, before stooping to kiss her hand, like he did on that night in London, when he accompanied her to her hotel.  
“You too”, Nives answered, speaking in a low voice in the attempt not to let it tremble, and then, before risking to commit some idiocy like throw her arms around his neck and kissing him desperately, she turned hastily, opened the door with the badge, entered and closed. Breathless, she leaned on the door and shut her eyes, heart in her throat, legs shaking. No, this was no good, she told herself frantically, she said she couldn’t fall in love with Richard Armitage: it was a hopeless path and travel down it would only mean sorrow, and the Goddess knew she had enough already, caused by love… Burning tears filled up her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.  
* * * * *  
On the other side of the wooden panel, Richard had placed his hand on the door, without knowledge it was just inches away from Nives’ head, and leaned his forehead against it. His breath was troubled: it had been just a hair’s breadth not to take Nives in his arms to kiss her deeply. He stopped only because he felt like taking advantage on her, on her evident crush on him – or on one of his characters: still he wasn’t sure if she was able to distinguish them from their performer. Richard had never been the kind of man who takes advantage whenever he can just to bed a woman. Besides, he didn’t want just to bed Nives, he wanted more: he wanted her heart, in addition to her body. He was aware that a possible relationship between them wouldn’t be easy to organize, given the geographic distance separating their domiciles; but he was also sure that he would do everything to make it work. However, first of all, he had to win Nives’ love and be sure it was addressed to him, the man, and not to some of his characters…  
Below he had seen Mario still behind the desk; he hurried downstairs to speak to him.  
“Good evening”, he addressed him, “I need an advice.”  
“Please, feel free to ask”, the concierge encouraged him.  
“I’d like to take out my friend to a nice restaurant, but a really nice one”, Richard explained, “Where could I go?”  
‘Ca’ dei Dogi’ hosted often honeymooners, therefore Mario was used to such enquiries and answered without hesitation:  
“Surely ‘Il Cucchiaio d’Oro’ (3); it isn’t cheap, but it is the most beautiful restaurant nearby. You can get there in just a ten minutes’ walk or, if you wish to impress your friend, you can get there from here by gondola.”  
He saw him hesitating and thought he went too far; sure enough, they were accommodated in two separated rooms, so maybe their relationship wasn’t of the romantic type, or not yet, at least.  
“A gondola would be superb”, Richard mused at length, aware of the implications such a gesture had, but he had finally decided to let Nives clearly know what his real interest in her was: he couldn’t go on endlessly on the edge of the razor. Therefore, even if he was a bit afraid of water, he decided to do it.  
“I can take care of the booking”, offered Mario, who would come back on duty next morning by 10.00, “both of the restaurant and of the gondola. Is it fine for tomorrow evening?”  
“Um, I was thinking about Saturday.”  
“The restaurant is always really crowded on Saturdays”, the concierge pointed out, “and they could be already sold out.”  
“Then tomorrow evening will do fine, if they don’t have a table for two on Saturday”, Richard decided.  
“Very well”, Mario nodded, writing a memo, “Eight o’clock is alright?”, at Richard’s affirmative sign he concluded, “I’ll slip a note under your door with the details of both bookings.”  
“Very good, you’re really kind”, the actor thanked him, taking a ten euros bill out of his wallet and placing it on the desk, “For your service.”  
Mario smiled: it wasn’t very usual to receive such a generous tip.  
“No problems”, he assured him.  
Satisfied, Richard went back to his room and to sleep.

 

 

(1) Freedom Bridge (the long bridge connecting Venice to the mainland.  
(2) Good evening, madam, sir.  
(3) The Golden Spoon.


	8. Friday, September 19th, 2014

 

Chapter VIII: Friday, September 19th, 2014

The following morning Nives and Richard agreed on meeting at 8 o’clock in the hall to go for breakfast. This time Richard was a bit late.  
“I’m sorry”, he said immediately, apologetic, “After months without shaving, I’m still not reaccostumed to take into account the time needed…”  
She smiled:  
“O come on, for five minutes…”, the smell of his aftershave reached her nostrils and she felt suddenly hot: sandal, her favourite male perfume, which made her crazy, “Let’s go to breakfast!”, she exhorted him, heading hastily toward the dining room, trying to get away from that alluring fragrance.  
Richard quickly went after her and couldn’t help but notice her lovely glass-hour shaped body, hugged by a t-shirt and jeans. Unexpectedly his hands itched, longing to caress those sensual curves; he clenched them to fists, trying to suppress such naughty thoughts.  
Unaware that his extreme closeness was sending Nives’ hormones reeling, as it was his habit Richard pulled the chair for her to let her sit down. The young woman closed her eyes for a moment, clenching her hands to avoid clasping the front of his t-shirt and dragging him to her for a fiery kiss.  
“What will we go sightseeing, today?”, Richard asked her during breakfast.  
“At 10 o’clock we have the entrance to san Marco cathedral”, answered Nives, “here it’ll take about one hour; after that we can stroll in the ‘piazza’, to look at the shops and the stands. If you want to buy something, ask me before: I won’t let you be fleeced for something not worth it”, she winked, “Then we’ll go to lunch in a restaurant I know. At 3 o’clock we have the entrance to ‘Palazzo Ducale’, that is the Doge’s Palace, and here it’ll take a couple of hours and maybe even something more.”  
Richard thought about a way to retrieve Mario’s note regarding the elegant dinner.  
“Can we go back to the hotel, before lunch?”, he enquired, “Just to freshen up a bit…”, he justified the request, but of course his purpose was to see what Mario had been able to do about the booking of restaurant and gondola.  
“Uhm, I didn’t take it into account, but we can do it”, Nives answered, a little surprised; it was only a small detour before going to eat, and anyway she, too, didn’t mind to freshen up a bit before sitting down to lunch.  
The visit in the cathedral thrilled him; Nives explained to him everything they were seeing, paintings, mosaics, triptychs, jewels, reliquaries, statues, while he hung off her words, both because she had a way to tell things very vivid and amusing, and because of her voice. He paused a long time to admire the stunning objects that composed the cathedral’s treasure; when they exited, it was past 11 o’clock.  
“Come”, Nives invited him, slipping her arm under his in what had become their usual way of strollilng and guiding him toward the palace on the right side of the square. To tell the truth, Richard would have loved to put his arm around her shoulders, but he thought it too much: after all, they were not a couple. Not to speak about the gossip storm which such a friendly behaviour would arise, should it become a public knowledge.  
They strolled leisurely along the whole portico surrounding three sides of ‘piazza san Marco’; Richard looked at the shop windows, charmed by the stunning Murano glassworks, but when he told her he would like to buy something, she shook her head and announced:  
“Lorraine knows a glassmaker and we agreed to pay a visit to his workshop tomorrow morning. This way you will not only save a bunch of money, but you’ll have the opportunity to see live how the glassware is wrought.”  
“Awesome idea!”, he cried, “It’ll be very interesting.”  
“Indeed”, confirmed the Italian woman, who had seen the procedure more than once, “You’ll stay open mouthed”, she assured him smiling.  
When they passed in front of the famous Café Florian, Nives dragged Richard to sit at a table, inadvertently taking seat before he had a chance to pull the chair for her.  
“This is the most renowned historical café in Venice”, she told him, “you cannot miss the occasion to drink something here, even if it costs an arm and a leg… one coffee is € 6.50!”  
He shrugged:  
“At Starbucks it costs more or less the same.”  
“But here in Italy a coffee costs averagely just € 1.00”, Nives laughed.  
“Whoops”, chuckled he, taking on his ‘adorkable’ air, which each time made her want to smother him with kisses.  
A waiter in a white jacket approached them.  
“What can I bring you?”  
“Would you like to try the typical Venetian aperitif?”, Nives asked Richard. He nodded:  
“Sure.”  
“’Due spritz’”, (1) Nives ordered. The waiter nodded and went away.  
The actor looked around in the sunlit square.  
“You know, I wanted to see Venice all my life”, he said, and then he got closer to her, “You’ve got no idea how much I’m happy to have you as a personal tourist guide”, he added.  
“And you’ve got no idea how much ‘I’ am glad to be your personal tourist guide”, Nives retorted with one of her dazzling beams, “I just meant it as a joke, in the note I wrote with the ceramic box… If someone would have told me it’d become real, I wouldn’t believe him for sure, and now instead I’m really here with you”, she recalled what she had often thought during the hours she spent with him, both in England and here in Venice, namely that it was only an incredible, wonderful dream, and stretched an arm across the table, “Pinch me”, she invited him. He stared at her, puzzled:  
“What?”  
“So I can persuade myself I’m not dreaming”, she said in a low tone and with a shy smile.  
Richard hesitated for a moment, and then he reached out, but, instead of pinching her, he caressed her fingers.  
“I could say the same thing”, he declared in a whisper. Nives held her breath. ‘No’, she told herself, ‘no no and no, he’s referring to the fact he’s in Venice, a dream coming true like it was for me going to London.’  
At that moment, the waiter came back with a silver tray carrying two large, bell-shaped glasses full of white wine with water and icicles; a small cup with chips completed the aperitif.  
“It’s € 25.00”, he said, laying the bill on the table beside the glasses. Richard immediately went for his wallet, glancing admonishingly at Nives, and paid.  
“You didn’t want me to pay my tickets for the cathedral and the palace”, he reminded her, “hence I pay for dinks and food.”  
“But you paid for everything, the other Sunday at Windsor and in London”, she protested, but he shook his head:  
“There’s nothing you can do to make me change my mind.”  
Nives rolled her eyes pretending exasperation, but of course, she was pleased that Richard continued to behave like a gentleman of times past.  
“’Alla salute’”, (2) Richard said in Italian. She answered, touching her glass to his, and they drank.  
* * * * *  
It was 12.20 when they went swiftly by the hotel before heading to the ‘trattoria’ where Nives had a mind to eat. Richard found Mario’s note, confirming him the booking at the restaurant for that same night at 20.00, while the gondola would wait for them outside the hotel entrance 15 minutes earlier.  
He freshened quickly up; he was about to exit, when he heard a knock on the door and, opening, he found Nives.  
“Are you ready?”, she asked him.  
“Absolutely”, he answered. ‘I’ll always be ready for you’, he pondered. The implications, also the erotic ones, of that thought made his ears burn. What was happening to him, for heaven’s sake?, he chastised himself. Nives was a beautiful woman, fully grown up, and he liked her very much: it was natural he got to think of her that way. So why did he feel like a timid teen-ager in front of the girl he had the biggest crush ever for…?  
The stroll to ‘Il covo dei Turchi’ (3) took less than 10 minutes, during which Richard informed Nives that their special dinner had been moved up to that same evening. She assured him it wasn’t a problem, one night or the other was the same.  
That day Nives got him to try another local speciality, the ‘fegato alla veneziana’, that is calf liver cut into small pieces and fried in olive oil and much onion; being it a rather rich dish, she agreed with the waitress for a single portion to divide in two, with a large bowl of salad. If they would have still some room left at the end, they would take a dessert, and in fact they did, choosing a piece of blueberry cake.  
Unfortunately, the restaurant didn’t have any Pinot noir, therefore Nives opted for a Cabernet Sauvignon to go with the meat.  
The afternoon was dedicated, as programmed, to visiting the Doge’s Palace, where Richard gazed in amazement paintings, frescoes, furniture, ancient weapons, flatware and marbles. When they arrived to the point where the Bridge of Sighs was, Nives told him the history of the infamous passageway, which leaded into the terrible Venetian prisons.  
“They can be visited”, she said in the end, “but if you want to do it, you must go alone, because that place causes me such an anguish I cannot breathe. And I assure you I ‘don’t’ suffer of claustrophobia.”  
The truth was that the thought of the horrible torments that so many people had suffered in there, was intolerable to her and made her sick, physically and psychologically.  
“No, I renounce, too”, said Richard, shaking his head: he had seen enough dungeons, true or fake as sets for movies or TV, thus one less wouldn’t make a big difference.  
They went on, until they arrived to the immense Hall of the Counsel of the Ten, where they watched in awe the striking frescoes on the ceiling and walls and Nives explained to Richard the government system of the ‘Serenissima Repubblica di Venezia’, that is the Most Serene Republic of Venice, where the chief was called ‘Doge’, which is another spelling for ‘Duke’, and ruled with a team of ten patricians out of the noble families of the town.  
When they exited, it was still enough early, so they strolled shortly along the’ Riva degli Schiavoni’, the lovely and all-time crowded promenade on the waterfront of St. Mark Basin, arriving as far as the ‘Danieli’, the most famous and expensive hotel in Venice, located in a magnificent Fourteenth Century palace in Venetian gothic style.  
“Here, a single room costs € 700.00”, Nives told Richard, “and the royal suite € 12,000.00.”  
“Holy smoke!”, cried he. In recent years, when he started to afford it, he allowed himself luxurious hotels, but not at ‘this’ level.  
They came back to the ‘Ca’ dei Dogi’ around 6 o’clock, agreeing to meet again at 7.40 in the hall.  
Nives had carefully chosen her outfit, as the two times she went to the Old Vic to meet Richard. Of those evenings, she kept the white bustier and the jewellery, while she changed the skirt with an indigo one, with a flounce on the lower part; thinking they had to walk, because in Venice one cannot take a taxi, she replaced the backslings with the impossible heels with black pumps, lower and more comfortable, elegant despite their minimalism. Besides, she would wear an anklet of silver and zircon.  
Glancing at the watch, she realized it was time to go downstairs; she quickly put on the black coat she used also in London, this time without the woollen jacket because in Venice it was warmer, grabbed her purse and hastened down.  
In the hall, she found Richard already waiting for her.  
“Am I late?”, she asked, slightly worried.  
“Not at all”, he reassured her, smiling, “You’re really beautiful, Nives”, he added, taking her hand to slip it under his arm. His praise, useless to say, made her heart jump in her throat.  
“You don’t joke, either, Richard”, finally she managed to reply. ‘Good heavens, in that dark suit he is terribly charming’, she thought; more than usual, that is, “I’m afraid I’m about to fangirl”, she added humorously, making him laugh.

  
Watching them exiting, Mario the concierge thought they made a magnificent couple; perhaps the highly romantic atmosphere of Venice would mark the beginning of a new love?, he wondered with a fond smile.  
Crossing the bridge on the little canal in front of the hotel, Nives noticed a gondola waiting on their left. Richard turned toward it and approached it:  
“Here we are”, he said, speaking to the gondolier. Nives blinked slowly, for a long moment with no clue about what was happening. Then she felt her jaw threatening to tumble on the ground: Richard ordered a gondola??  
The gondolier took his hat off, bowing theatrically:  
“Madam, sir, welcome”, he said in a strongly accented English, but nonetheless well understandable, “Please, sit down.”  
He reached out to help Nives, but Richard shook his head; preceding his lady, he went on-board and offered her his hand to support her on the unsteady boat until she was seated on the large cushioned bench. The gondolier took place behind them and began to row slowly, starting to sing a love song in the most typical Venetian style.  
Nives was about to cry out of emotion.  
This was the most romantic courtship tradition in Venice… was Richard aware of it? She thought not; it wasn’t possible, who could have told him? Surely, he thought it just a nice idea and, in spite of his well-known fear of water, he had been curious to try the gondola, this unique and almost mythical boat, which exists solely in the splendid Venetian lagoon town. She mustn’t let this go to her head, she mustn’t let herself get lost in flights of fancy where he was in love with her… no no no!  
“Do you like it?”, Richard asked her, worried about her quietness. Unable to speak because of the lump in her throat, she simply nodded.  
“You sure?”, he insisted, at this point anxious because of her persisting silence. Therefore, Nives, still unable to verbalize, bent toward him and kissed him on a cheek.  
“It’s simply ‘too’ beautiful”, she managed finally to whisper, “I’ve never been on a gondola…”  
Her voice broke and she fell silent, or she would burst into tears. Why, o why Richard wasn’t taken by love for her, and didn’t tell, and then kissed her…? A trip on a gondola with her beloved one was the most beautiful romantic dream of her life, which she had never been able to fulfil, not even while she was married…  
Richard felt butterflies in his stomach when she kissed him on a cheek; he felt, more than see in the upcoming twilight, the deep emotion which had come over Nives and, even if he would have liked to turn and kiss her desperately, he restrained and simply took her hand, squeezing it in a reassuring gesture, sure that any other move would be too much.

  
They reached the small jetty in front of the restaurant a little earlier than planned; again, Richard went before Nives in order to help her to get off, and then he paid the gondolier, giving him a generous tip.  
Nives had overcome her deep emotion and now looked at Richard with a bright smile; he returned it, giving her his arm, and then they headed to the restaurant’s entrance.  
The maître welcomed them with an affable nod.  
“’Buonasera, signora, signore…’”, he greeted them in Italian. By now Richard had learned the greetings in that language and understood, therefore he reciprocated in the same idiom:  
“’Buonasera’”, then he continued in English, “Mr Mario of the ‘Ca’ dei Dogi’ booked a table for two.”  
The man glanced in his book and nodded:  
“Miss Nardini and Mr Armitage”, he confirmed, this time speaking the language of Albion, he too, “This way, please.”  
Probably he didn’t recognize him, the actor thought, because he got the pronunciation of his name wrong, French-izing it; it happened often and Richard ended up to live with it, therefore he didn’t blink.  
The maître preceded them in the elegant dining room with sea view, taking them to a corner table with a small candleholder in red glass and fresh flowers as a centrepiece.

  
Nives tried hard not to gape, in order not to look like a small-town girl: never, in all her life, had she been in such a superb restaurant, not even for a wedding.  
The maître placed the menus on the table and addressed Nives:  
“You can give your coat to me, madam”, he said, “You can later retrieve it at the cloakroom”, he continued, indicating the hall. She nodded, set down her purse and took off her coat, giving it to the man, who at this point moved to pull her chair, but was stopped by Richard who, as usual, did it himself.  
The maître left and the actor bent toward Nives, now seated, whispering emphatically:  
“You’re ‘charming’.”  
She blushed profusely; suddenly, she reminded how, in London, with Flavia she wished for him telling her something like this… and now he just did it. She felt very hot.  
“Thank you”, she breathed, “I… remember you appreciating my bustier, hence I thought to wear it again”, she explained timidly. For all the gods of the Valhalla, where was all her self-confidence, the one of an over-forty woman, aware of her charm?? After all, she knew she had some – but once more Richard blew up all her ease.  
“You remember well”, said Richard in a low voice, sitting down and filling up his eyes with the sight of Nives in that romantic bustier, this time not veiled with any shawl, “You look like a princess of the Nineteenth Century.”  
“You’re gallant…”  
“No, I’m sincere.”  
Her heart rate running a thousand miles per hour for the emotion, Nives took the menu and tried desperately to concentrate on it to avoid fainting. Richard instead didn’t even open it and when she, having finally regained her composure, looked at him interrogatively, he told her:  
“I trust you again: until now I never repented it.”  
A waiter in a dark suit came to their table.  
“Can I take you an aperitif, madam, sir?”, he asked in English; evidently the maître warned him that one or both of them were strangers.  
Richard noticed the openly admired gaze the man was addressing to Nives and felt suddenly a violent jealousy. How did he dare?? Nives was only HIS!  
Realizing the absurdity of such a thought, he forced himself to restrain the desire to punch the incautious waiter on his nose. Never, in all his life, did Richard feel such a burning jealousy, and furthermore so unjustified: after all, he and Nives were NOT together and the waiter was only ’looking’, and to look wasn’t of course a crime… Therefore, why this ferocious sensation of jealousy…?  
Meanwhile, Nives, completely unaware of the emotional storm raging in Richard’s soul, answered the waiter:  
“Two Bellini, please.”  
The young man smiled at her affably; he nodded, indicating he had understand, and then left.  
Meanwhile Richard had been able to master the emotional tornado, which caught him so abruptly and unexpectedly, and addressed her an intrigued gaze:  
“Bellini?”  
“Another typical Venetian aperitif”, Nives explained, “Prosecco – a white sparkling wine – with white peach juice and pulp.”  
“It has to be tasteful”, commented he. The Italian woman nodded for confirmation and went back studying the menu.  
“If you like seafood again, I see very interesting things”, she declared.  
“I adore seafood, but I have rarely the occasion to eat it”, the actor revealed, “therefore I’d gladly take advantage whenever I can.”  
’I’d eat bread and cheese crusts and they’d be delicious to me, with you’, he thought, feeling totally enchanted by Nives’ genuine charm. Maybe she wasn’t a breath-taking beauty like those who frequented his milieu, but she was attractive in many other ways, for culture, humour, zest, intelligence, irony… not to speak about her sex appeal, which she seemed to be completely unaware of.  
The waiter came back with their aperitifs, served in elegant crystal champagne glasses and accompanied by stuffed olives, tiny salmon canapés and small ham French pastries.  
“Did you already choose, or do you prefer to wait some more before ordering?”, the waiter enquired, cordially.  
“I’d order, thanks”, said Nives, and the young man took an electronic notepad from his jacket pocket along with its pen.  
As ’antipasto’, Nives chose a creamy codfish foam with ’polenta’ (4), followed by a risotto with squids in their ink; further, a boiled lobster with a side dish of mixed vegetables, steamed and then pan roasted. As for the choice of the wine, she had a slight hesitation and sought the waiter’s advice regarding a Prosecco spumante, a very famous, fine sparkling wine, which encountered the man’s complete approval, and he complimented her on her evident knowledge about wines.  
As already happened for all other meals they shared, she and Richard chatted pleasurably about thousand topics. They told each other amusing or significant episodes of their childhood or teenage, and even some disillusion they faced, dreams they realized or put aside, places they visited, people they met.  
They finished dinner with a dessert called ‘Mori di Venezia’ (5), a reference to Othello, a shortcut pastry covered with dark chocolate and almonds, which came with a little glass of Torcolato, a straw wine of the area.  
“I’m almost bursting”, Nives chuckled in the end, “I don’t fit anymore, inside this bustier!”  
‘I wouldn’t mind at all, if I could take it off you’, flashed through Richard’s mind, who repressed brusquely this thought, considering it ignoble of her and of himself; but he couldn’t help it, by now he was aware he wanted this young Italian woman with every fibre of his being; not only her body, but HER.  
Recalling once more the famous interview where he had listed the qualities he sought in a woman, he concluded he was by now sure Nives had all the requirements.  
All of a sudden, he realized he was in love.  
* * * * *  
For the return trip to the hotel, Nives suggested to walk: a little fresh air would help them to digest better food and drink. Richard accepted gladly.  
They oriented easily thanks to Google Maps – ’hurray tecnology’ was Nives’ amused comment – and in about twenty minutes they were back at the hotel; they went slowly upstairs to the second floor, both reluctant to put an end to the day.  
Finally, they arrived in front of the door to Nives’ room; she turned towards Richard and, as usual, because of his very tall stature she looked at him from below, in a manner she was unaware how much he found adorable.  
“What a perfect day”, she considered, sighing, “Too bad it’s over.”  
“There’s still tomorrow”, he reminded her with his small, seductive little smile.  
“Yeah, right…”, she beamed back, “Good night and sweet dreams, Richard.”  
He took her hand and brought it to his lips.  
“Good night and sweet dreams, Nives”, he reciprocated, gazing deeply into her eyes.  
They stared to each other, motionless, for long moments. None wanted to part from the other.  
Nives would have wanted badly to find the courage to rise on her tiptoes and give him a kiss on the lips, noncommittally, just a variation on the goodnight kiss; but she had never been the type to take the first step: even if she was a modern and independent woman, in the field of sentiments she had definitely a shyness from a different time.  
Richard felt his heart thumping like a drum, with loud beats booming in his ears. He was dying out of the need to kiss her, kiss her properly. He lowered his gaze to her lips, which the thin layer of coral pink lipstick made even more desirable. He was still holding back, not wanting to take advantage on her feelings for him; but he too, had feelings for her… Lastly, he couldn’t resist any longer: he cupped her face in his hands and bent forward, touching gently his lips with hers.  
Nives saw Richard bending on her and knew he was going to kiss her; she felt his hands cup her face and time stopped to move. She closed her eyes, and then Richard’s mouth was on hers; for a moment, in Nives’ mind the world darkened, and then exploded in a blinding flash of light. Gasping, she raised her arms behind Richard’s back and pressed herself to him, throwing back her head and parting her lips to invite him to a deeper kiss.  
Her response, so prompt and passionate, thrilled Richard, who threw into the sewer all his good resolutions and his hesitations caused by his sense of honour; he closed his arms around Nives and stuck their bodies together, and then he caressed her lips with the tip of his tongue, lingering a little to prolong the wait and make their first kiss even better; he wanted it unforgettable, for both of them. Finally, he plunged his tongue in the warm recesses of her inviting mouth.  
He kissed her profoundly, not only physically, but also with his soul, like he never kissed before in his life. He was thrilled like at his first kiss – at fifteen with a high school classmate – but at the same time he was aware of his adult man experience; he used it to kiss Nives in the most romantic and passionate way he was capable of, to tell her not only his physical desire for her, but also the one of heart and sentiment. He was in love, he wanted to MAKE LOVE to her, not just to have sex with her, and he expressed it to her in this way.  
Nives’ universe had shrunk to the two of them only; she perceived only Richard: his tongue caressing hers, sweet and sensual, his lips, tender but firm, his arms around her, lovingly possessive, his body pressed against hers, solid and reassuring, his intriguing sandal perfume. If at that moment Venice would sink into the lagoon, she wouldn’t even notice it.  
She didn’t remember having ever felt such powerful sensations, in a man’s arms, not even her husband’s, even if she had loved him sincerely.  
Richard pulled away, but he immediately realized he hadn’t had enough; therefore, he started again, seizing Nives’ mouth for another passionate kiss, which she reciprocated with the same fervour.  
They separated their lips, but just for a few lines and a few seconds, and then they kissed again, even more fervently than before. They felt like they simply couldn’t stop. Many long minutes passed by, while they exchanged kisses on kisses.  
Finally, they pulled away, both flushed and out of breath, but still tightly embracing.  
“O Goddess”, Nives murmured, “… what was there, in that wine…?”  
“There wasn’t anything, in the wine”, Richard whispered, brushing lightly his lips on hers, “It’s since that Sunday evening in London that I wanted to kiss you like this…”  
At this statement, Nives almost swooned; hadn’t she been grasping him, she would have certainly collapsed on the spot, because her knees had given in.  
“It can’t… be true…”, she mumbled, “I’m dreaming…”  
Richard pulled back his head and saw her eyes closed, on her face an expression half of incredulity and half of dismay. He felt unsettled.  
“Look at me”, he enquired and, because she was hesitating, repeated it more compellingly, “Look at me!”  
Slowly, Nives opened her eyes and raised them to meet his gaze.  
“It’s not a dream, Nives”, he reassured her, “it’s true, everything: you’re here with me, I’m holding you, I’m kissing you…”  
Dismayed, he saw tears forming in her brown eyes; one crossed the rim and rolled down her cheek.  
“Oh Richard…”, Nives whispered, beginning to shake like a leaf, “You don’t know… you cannot know… how much I dreamt, how much I PRAYED for a moment like this, during thousand lonely nights… but I thought it could only be an impossible desire… you’re a famous actor, surrounded by stunningly beautiful women, how could you notice ME?”  
She trembled more and more.  
“Except I did”, he reminded her, interrupting her with a feathery kiss on her lips, a kiss she was too upset to reciprocate. Therefore, he kissed her again, tenderly, until he felt her quiver quieten. Then he let her speak again, because he sensed she needed to vent, to tell him what she kept in her heart.  
“Coming to London to see you, to have the opportunity to exchange some words with you, to give you a present, meant already an immensity to me…”, she went on, a little calmer, “Never, ever I would imagine you could notice me… When you asked me to wait for you I thought I was hallucinating… you can ask my friends… When you came back, I was absolutely sure you would not even turn your head on me… but you did. I couldn’t believe to what was happening… And then you asked me to meet again the day after, which was the most glorious day of my life… I thought I wouldn’t see you ever again, and I cried…”  
Her voice broke off and Richard felt a lump in his throat.  
“I’m sorry, baby…”, he whispered. She hold her breath at this unexpected, tender epithet.  
“It’s not your fault”, she reassured him”, it’s me, being so terribly emotional. When you wrote me you wanted to come to Venice, again I thought I was dreaming… and I’m still not sure this isn’t all a dream…”  
He hold her tighter and kissed her brow.  
“Does this seem to you a dream?”, he asked her. She laid her head on his chest and against her ear, she perceived his heart beat, strong and a little uneven.  
“I’m afraid so”, she answered in a low voice, “and I don’t want to wake up ever again…”  
“How can I convince you it’s all absolutely true?”, Richard pressed her, caressing her back.  
’Make love with me’, Nives would have liked to say; she even was protected, being on the pill out of medical reasons for years now; but she hadn’t the nerve to. What if he was simply being carried away from the romantic atmosphere of Venice? What if he was just having a moment of weakness? After all, he, too, was single for a long time, almost as long as her, and he could feel lonely, exactly like her; but being with someone only to drive away loneliness is never a good idea, it is a kind of relationship which never lasts for long.  
“If tomorrow morning you’ll kiss me again like tonight, maybe then I’ll begin to believe it”, she said instead in an undertone.  
“I’d kiss you like this all night long”, Richard stated in a whisper. Nives started and he feared having been too bold.  
“B… better not”, she stuttered, pulling slowly away from him, “Because if you’d do it, I’ll end up inviting you in my bed… and I’m not sure I’m ready…”  
Actually, she was more than ready… if it would be just a one-night stand. Not that she had many, in her life – only one, to say it all, some years ago during a vacation. She didn’t repent it, but she never repeated the experience. However, with Richard it wouldn’t be just a one-night stand, because she was madly in love with him.  
“I’d let you never do something you could repent”, declared Richard, loosening his grasp around her, “and even if I’d die to sleep with you, I won’t ask for it. Not tonight.”  
He knew that, should he ask, she would surrender, because right now she was extremely vulnerable; but he were sincere, when he had said he would never force her into doing something she could repent.  
Hence, he pulled away, even if every fibre of his being was shouting at him to kiss her again, breathlessly, until she was convinced to welcome him in her bed and in her body not less than in her heart. Instead, he took her hands and kissed them both.  
“Good night and sweet dreams, Nives”, he repeated, in what had become their special night good-bye.  
“You too, Richard”, she answered, smiling weakly. Her head spinning as if she would have been drunk, she turned and took the badge from her purse, passing it into the slit with a trembling hand. The lock clicked and she opened the door, turning again to look at Richard.  
The actor had taken a step back, forcing himself to put some distance between them, aware that otherwise he would send to hell all his honourable gentlemanly intentions to seize her, enter her room and make love to her all night long.  
He blew her a kiss – not differently as she had done that Saturday night in London, outside the theatre – and turned, heading to his room.  
None of the two of them slept much, that night, each one taken by the thought of the other one, craving desperately the presence one of the other, and sure enough not only for the physical pleasure they would offer to one another, but for the simple fact to be together.

 

(1) Two spritz  
(2) Cheers  
(3) The Turks’ Hideout  
(4) Cornmeal mush  
(5) Moors of Venice


	9. Saturday, September 20th, 2014

 

Chapter IX: Saturday, September 20th, 2014

The following morning, Nives heard a knock on the door while she was still dressing.  
“’Chi è?’”, she asked in Italian, unsure if it was Richard or not, because the day before she had waited for him in the hall to go and have breakfast together.  
“It’s me”, she heard the actor’s unmistakeable voice.  
“One minute!”, she cried then, hurrying up to finish dressing. She ran to the bathroom and brushed quickly her hair, and finally went to open the door.  
“Good morning”, Richard told her, grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her to his chest. He bent and kissed her with the same ardour as the night before. Happily surprised, Nives initially supported herself on his arms, and then she wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her body to his.  
“Well?”, the English man murmured against her lips. Her eyes still closed, Nives murmured back:  
“What?”  
“Do you begin to believe it, that it isn’t a dream?”  
He remembered exactly what she had told him, she noticed, thrilled.  
“Um, I still don’t know…”  
“Hey, this way you risk me kissing you all day long”, he threatened her jokingly. Nives brushed her lips against his.  
“I’d like you to do it… but at 10 o’clock we have the guided tour at the Clocktower.”  
“We could skip breakfast…”  
“Interesting idea…”  
They continued exchanging kisses for some minutes, then the noise of a door opening induced them to divide. A guest of the hotel appeared at the end of the corridor, from the opposite side, but didn’t heed them whilst he headed hastily to the stairs.  
“Better go down to breakfast”, suggested Nives, “Give me two minutes to put on my makeup.”  
She left the door open, allowing him to decide freely whether to come in or not. He entered, just beyond the threshold to avoid the risk of inappropriate behaviours, and looked at her through the bathroom door.  
“I always found very sexy looking at a woman putting on her makeup”, he confided her, a little provocatively.  
“Really?”, she said, refusing to take the hint, “I find very sexy a man shaving with a straight razor”, she raised the bid.  
“O!”, he cried, thrown off guard for a moment, “I think I’ll get one, then…”, he concluded grinning in a naughty way.  
Nives felt hot, thinking of Richard while shaving, because it implied an intimacy degree, which she wished for with all her heart.  
“Done”, she announced, exiting the bathroom and turning off the light. As usual, she put on only eyeliner pencil and mascara: luckily, she had a beautiful complexion that didn’t need any foundation cream, while she preferred to use lipstick only for the office hours or for other occasions.  
Richard liked that simplicity; he liked also when she put on a full makeup, as she had for the theatre in London and the night before at dinner.  
He doubted there was something he didn’t like, in her…  
“Let’s go then”, he exhorted her, moving and exiting the room.  
* * * * *  
During the visit at the famous Clocktower, Richard stayed a bit apart from Nives, just brushing her occasionally; he would have liked to take her hand – at least where possible, given the narrow spaces inside the tower – like any other couple of lovers, but there was always the risk that somebody, recognizing him, would shoot pictures in secret and then spread them on social networks, blabbing around a part of his personal life he hoped to retain private a bit longer; even if, under another point of view, he would have liked to share his joy with the entire world, but it was still too early.  
The visit lasted one hour; as they exited the building, they crossed ‘piazza san Marco’ heading to the likewise famous Campanile, the formidable building in front of the Doge’s Palace, which serves as bell tower for the cathedral. Arriving to the top was a demanding endeavour, being the tower almost 330 feet high, but the breath-taking view on Venice from that height was worth all the effort.  
When they came down, it was almost noon; the appointment with Lorraine to go first at lunch and then to Murano island was for 13.00, therefore Nives suggested an aperitif, this time at the Café Chioggia; they sat in front of the sea, enjoying the spectacular view of the ship congested portion of lagoon in front of san Marco, with the isle of san Giorgio right in front of them.  
Richard noticed a pleasant music coming from the loudspeakers placed around the area occupied by the tables; it resembled baroque music, but it was clearly performed with modern instruments.  
“What is it?”, he asked, nodding towards the nearest speaker. Nives listened for some seconds and recognized the piece.  
“It’s a band called ‘Rondò Veneziano’”, she answered, “They perform music of baroque inspiration, but with modern arrangement. My mum was a fan, and I like them much, too.”  
“Really good”, declared Richard, appreciatively; then he looked around, “I still don’t believe I’m here in Venice”, he commented, filling his eyes with the architectonic beauties of this fabulous town.  
Nives looked at him curling her lips in a mocking grin:  
“Wasn’t it me, the one who didn’t believe what is happening…?  
He chuckled:  
“You’re right”, he admitted, stretching out one arm, “Pinch me.”  
She laughed and, as he had done the day before, instead of pinching him, she caressed him. The actor covered her hand with his and held it for a moment.  
“I’m sorry I can’t express publicly what I feel for you”, he said in a low voice, “but I have no desire that half the world knows about my personal business in half a minute…”  
“Neither do I, to tell you the truth”, she assured him, calling herself a fool not having thought about it herself: she had noticed that, since they left the hotel, he had avoided to touch her or even to stay too close to her and had wondered why.  
“Can we go back to the hotel, before?”, Richard asked in a casual tone.  
“Yes, sure”, she answered, thinking he wanted to freshen up a little before going to lunch, like they did the day before. She couldn’t know that Richard’s intent was another.  
They finished the aperitif – this time, a ‘spritz’ with a hint of Aperol, a red bitter – and then went back to the hotel; as they arrived upstairs, Nives opened the door to her room, and then he did what he came for: he held the door open with one hand and stretched out the other to her.  
“Wait”, he murmured, “Come here…”  
Nives didn’t made him repeat it, took his hand and a moment later she was in his arms.  
“I cannot arrive at the end of the day without kissing you”, Richard declared in an undertone, before laying his mouth on hers.  
Nives didn’t wait his invitation and parted immediately her lips, ready to welcome his kiss: for her, too, it had been a long morning of abstinence. She felt like having gone back to teenage, when she exchanged kisses with her first boyfriend and didn’t think to go farther. O, she would have liked very much ‘going farther’ with Richard, but it was so lovely even just to stop on kisses and find again the innocence and sweetness of those years…  
Richard held the door accurately open with his foot, because he knew, should he let it shut, he wouldn’t be able to control himself any longer and he would end up to take Nives to bed and make love to her for the rest of the day; but he didn’t want to press her in any way, he wanted it to be her to decide, freely, when taking that step.  
One kiss followed up another for a number of minutes.  
“I’d never stop kissing you”, Nives whispered on his lips.  
“Neither me”, Richard answered, holding her tighter. Against her abdomen, she felt clearly the solid bulge in his trousers; the awareness it was she, exactly she, the cause of it, took her breath away. Without thinking, she rubbed herself against him; with a low grumble, Richard seized her hips to halt her.  
“Stop”, he pleaded, “or I won’t answer for my actions anymore …”  
Panting, Nives obeyed. ‘To hell with it’, she thought a moment later, her mind obscured by want. She opened her mouth to tell him she had no intention to stop, when her cell phone rang. The shrill sound had on her the same effect as an icy water bucket in her face.  
“Good heavens, it has to be Lorraine”, she muttered, pulling away from Richard, who let her go reluctantly. She fished her phone out of the purse, verifying it was really her friend.  
“Hallo, Lorraine, are you here?”  
“Yes, I’m in the hall.”  
“We come down immediately.”  
Lorraine saw them arriving and observed perplexed that they had a slightly ‘dishevelled’ appearance; a suspicion sprang to her mind, but Nives hugged and kissed her affectionately and hence she had no opportunity to enquire.  
“We haven’t been formally introduced yet”, she said to Richard, “I’m Lorraine Picard.”  
“Nice to meet you”, he said, shaking hands with her.  
“Well, Mr Armitage, what do you think of Venice, up to now?”, she asked him.  
“O, call me Richard”, he invited her, “Nives’ friends are my friends, if you agree.”  
“It’s perfectly fine”, Lorraine reassured him, pleased.  
“Venice is even more beautiful as I thought it”, the actor stated, involuntarily glancing at Nives.  
‘O, really?’, thought the French woman, amused, ‘I bet that, much more than Venice, you’re talking about Nives…’  
When she learnt Richard had reiterated his intention to come to Venice and had asked her friend to be his guide, Lorraine had realized he was really very much attracted to Nives and had been happy for her. Even if they didn’t know each other for a great number of years, they became close friends in a very short time and therefore she knew well how much her sentimental solitude weighted heavy on Nives’ heart. Lorraine was sincerely happy to learn that Richard Armitage, her idol, the one for whom Nives had been willing to commit the folly to go to London just to see him and to have the opportunity to talk to him a few moments, was reciprocating her friend’s interest.  
“I thought the same thing when I first came here from France”, she told him, “I liked it so much that I decided to move here.”  
“Darn”, he commented, struck, “It’s not everyday, my compliments.”  
Lorraine made a nonchalantly gesture:  
“I’m notoriously out of my mind, as Nives well knows, therefore don’t be too much surprised…”, she commented wittily, “Shall we go?”  
They exited and Lorraine guided them in the windings of the Venetian ‘calli’ to the ‘Fondamenta Nuove’, in front of Murano, where they stopped to lunch. It was enough a mild temperature to eat outside, thus they sat on an outdoor table, from which they could gaze at the lagoon. Nives suggested to Richard the ‘bigoli’, the thick, typically Venetian spaghetti, with clams and fish eggs, and finally all the three of them took this dish; she and the British actor drank wine, while Lorraine opted for a beer. Nives mocked her all the time for her non-love for wine, rather unusual for a French; then, as her habit, the latter asked for a dessert, while Nives declined, preferring a coffee, and Richard did the same.  
Richard didn’t want to hear a word and paid for both his lunch companions; the waitress brought the bill and, having recognized him, very timidly asked for an autograph and a photo; he was glad to accept.  
“If Italian fans are all so much affable”, he commented later, while starting to go, “I’d be more than happy to come to Italy for a première.”  
“O that would be fantastic”, Nives stated, “I hope it’ll be possible…”  
They took the ferry which, in about twenty minutes, brought them to the isle of Murano. The glassmaker’s workshop, which owner Lorraine was acquainted with, was just some hundred yards away and in less than five minutes they arrived. There, Richard had a chance to see live the glass making, which in Murano reaches levels of excellence with no comparison in the whole world. While Davide, the owner, illustrated him the history about this ancient art, under the actor’s admiring eyes the expert artisans created some figurines, among them a stupendous white swan with a red-orange beak which left him enthralled. Later, Davide offered them a cool drink in wonderful glasses with pure gold decorations.  
“You produce extraordinary items”, Richard declared, with Lorraine translating for Davide, who didn’t speak English, “Can I buy something?”  
“Of course”, the glassmaker answered, very glad of the enquire, “Please, follow me.”

  
He guided them to the factory outlet, where Richard was dazed by the beauty of the articles, which went from glasses to vases, from dishes to chandeliers, from decorative objects to costume jewellery. He purchased a light blue swan similar to the one he attended the creation earlier, and a red glass vase decorated with white enamel for his mother. Among the costume jewellery, which he had learned is called ‘murrine’, Richard had eyed some pendants; while Nives and Lorraine were distracted looking at some dragons, which aroused the French woman’s enthusiasm, he purchased one with the idea to give it to Nives. He didn’t know what her favourite colour was, but he thought of her Tolkienian alter-ego, Nerwen the Green, and hence opted for a heart in that colour.  
It was already late afternoon when they got back to the hotel; the original programme would have envisaged dining all three together, but Lorraine declined, saying she was very tired because of an almost sleepless night. It was a lie, because she had slept normally, but she didn’t want to be the third wheel: she had very well seen the way Nives and Richard were looking to each other, even if they tried to conceal their feelings. Therefore she took her leave, hugging them both and wishing them a nice continuation, and finally left them alone.  
“Where shall we go to dinner, tonight?”, asked Richard while they were going upstairs.  
“We’ll go to a ‘bàcaro’”, she said, “a typical Venetian tavern: the food is simple, but tasty, and there’s good drinking.”  
“Couldn’t we dine in one of our rooms?”, he asked, “I’d like to be alone with you…”, at her bewildered gaze, he reassured her, “I’ll behave, I swear! It’s only that… if I wish to kiss you, I’d like to do it freely.”  
She understood: publicly they had to continue to restrain themselves and, after the whole day passed in these conditions – with only the very short break in the hotel before Lorraine’s arrival – she, too, was really tired of it.  
He had sworn he would behave; she believed him, because she knew what kind of man he was. Problem was, she didn’t know if ‘she’ would behave: after all, just a few hours earlier she had been about to drag him to bed. Her worries didn’t come from a hypocrite morality, but from the awareness that, deepening their relationship, she would end up falling in love for him more and more, consequently risking to suffer more in case their affair would go wrong. ‘But who are you kidding?’, she asked herself in a flash of lucid, ruthless sincerity with herself, ‘You’re madly in love already, you cannot fall more than this! You’re in and you might as well go all the way, and then it will be what the Goddess want it to be.’  
She made up her mind, knowing there was no turning back.  
“It’s a wonderful idea”, she said therefore, and then looked at her watch, “It’s half past five: we’ll see us in one hour, okay?”  
“Fine”, he approved; in front of her room, he tried to kiss her briefly, but he wasn’t able to and ended up to hold her for a much longer time than planned, before he succeeded to let her go, “I’d never stop kissing you”, he said, repeating what she had told him some hours ago.  
“Neither me”, answered Nives, she, too, repeating his words, “but the sooner we do it, the sooner we can go and take dinner”, she added, winking.  
“You’re right”, Richard agreed, pulling away, “See you later.”  
He headed quickly to his room, where he had a long shower, changed completely – except for the jeans, because he brought only one pair – and he shaved again: should Nives decide to spend the night with him, he wanted to be at his best, because she deserved nothing less. At half past six he went to knock on her door; during the few seconds she needed to open, he realized he was anxious like a sixteen-years-old boy at his first date.  
Also Nives had herself prepared carefully, glad to have brought sexy underwear, or ‘representative undies’ like her mum hilariously used to call them; she didn’t have any hope to wear them for a concrete reason, yet it was precisely what she was doing now. For once, she was glad of the medical reasons which forced her to take the pill even without having sexual intercourse: now it came in handy… As for possible illnesses, she had no doubt that Richard was healthy like herself.  
While she was hooking her bra –dark green silk and lace, matching a pair of culottes – she realized her hands were shaking, more or less like the night she was preparing to go to the Old Vic in order to see Richard for the first time live.  
She donned a fuchsia long sleeved shirt, decorated with glittering rhinestones forming a four-leaf clover, with tight black jeans which suited her particularly well, accentuating her hour-glass shaped body, and slipped in the low heeled shoes she chose to walk in the Venetian ‘calli’; finally she refreshed the eye makeup, giving up the lipstick because she foresaw it would last only a very short time, with Richard’s kisses.  
She decided to let her hair down, because at night it wasn’t so hot to force her to tie them up; whilst she was brushing them, she heard a knock.  
“Coming!”, she answered, putting down the hairbrush. When she opened the door, her breath caught in her throat: Richard, lazily laying against the doorjamb, in jeans and short black leatherjacket, was simply the hottest man she had ever seen. And then, that sandal scent sent her head spinning…

  
“Ha!”, she cried, “Wow, but do you have any idea or not, about the effect you have on this fangirl’s heart?”, she asked him. Her tone was jokingly, but she was speaking seriously: her heart somersaulted in her chest.  
Richard gazed at her from head to toe, appreciating the way her jeans hugged her hips.  
“If it’s the same you have on me, then yes, I do have an idea”, he murmured. He felt very near to drooling like a teenager in the midst of an hormonal storm.  
Under his devouring stare, Nives gasped, breathless. Dazed, she thought that she didn’t want to wait a minute more.  
“But… are you hungry?”, she asked in a low voice. Hearing her tone, low and slightly hoarse, Richard felt a slow shiver travelling down his spine; he realized she had made up her mind and felt like catching fire.  
“Only of you”, he answered as much in an undertone. For a long moment, they just stared at each other, getting lost in each other’s eyes; perceiving that, out of respect, he wouldn’t make the first move, Nives withdrew, inviting him unmistakeably to come in. Richard felt his heart skip a beat; he moved a step forward and shut the door behind him.  
A moment later she was in his arms.  
He bent his head and laid his lips on hers; at first sweetly, then, feeling her warm reply, he hold her tighter and kissed her with increasing passion. Nives gave off a pant and reciprocated him with the same ardour. Richard lost his head for a moment, pushed her against the wall and seized her hips, lifting her from the floor. Automatically she parted and raised her knees, surrounding his waist with her legs; she felt his virile hardness pressing against the centre of her body, hypersensitive by want, and moaned aloud.  
The sound made Richard come back to his senses, at least enough to rip off his lips from Nives’. Slowly, he let her slip down again, and then he laid his forehead on hers, breathing hard.  
“I… I promised I’d behave”, he gasped, “but I can’t…”  
“So don’t do it”, she murmured, with the same sexy inflexion as before; Richard felt his mouth going dry.  
“Don’t… get me wrong, but I need to know: are you sure you want this truly?”, he asked her in an urgent tone, “I’ve got no intention to push you on something you could regret… Only yesterday, you said you weren’t ready…”  
“I was wrong”, she interrupted him determinedly. She pushed him slightly back to look into his eyes, those clear blue eyes which had her charmed since the first moment and which now burnt out of passion for her, but which were also full of apprehension, and she felt a lump in her throat: what man would stop right there, just to be sure she wasn’t doing something crazy , and wouldn’t instead go on with it, simply taking what she was offering?  
“If I’d tell you I’m not sure, would you stop?”, she asked in a low voice. She saw him gulp and shut his eyes for a moment, and then looking again at her, an almost desperate light in his bright eyes:  
“Yes, I’d stop. I respect you too much.”  
At these words, she felt she loved him even more.  
“Don’t stop”, she exhorted him, “I realized I want you, Richard. I want ‘you’, not one of your characters. I learnt that the real person is much better than the fictional ones…”  
He blinked, incredulous. What was she, a telepath? How could she sense his doubts, his fears…?  
Wouldn’t he be already in love with her, he would fall for her in this precise moment.  
He closed his eyes for a moment, trying hard to reason with his brain and not only with his nether parts; regaining some composure, he looked at her again.  
“Protection…?”, he asked very softly. She appreciated very much he was thinking of it even in the mind-clouding heat of the moment.  
“Pill”, she replied shortly, “As for illnesses… I trust you completely…”  
“So do I”, he assured her, and then he kissed her impetuously, with a fervour if possible even higher than before. He felt her fingers on his chest and for a moment he worried she would push him away, suddenly frightened by his frenzy, but instead he felt her insert her hands under his jacket to pull it off his shoulders. Without separating his lips from hers, he moved so to let her slip it off his arms and let it fall on the floor. Then he raised her shirt, slowly, and slipped his hands under it to caress her back. Her skin was smooth and warm and touching it he felt his palms prickle as passed through with a low voltage electric shock.  
Feeling Richard’s hands brushing her back, Nives shuddered and let out a small moan. Encouraged, he went on lifting her shirt; at this point she pulled away to let him take it off her head. Richard looked at her, appreciating the nice bra, but especially its seductive content; he bent his head and brushed with his lips those soft mounds. Nives sighed, throwing back her head and therefore exposing her throat; quickly, Richard laid a wake of kisses on her chest, until he reached the little vein pulsing frantically on her neck, then up again, to her lips, kissing them reverently.  
Nives moved her hands on his ribcage, beginning to undo the buttons of his shirt; she opened it down to his belt, then she drew it out of his trousers and slipped her arms under it to caress his back in a similar way he already did to her and managing to get a sigh of appreciation out of him. She backed a little, interrupting their kiss; he was displeased, but then he felt her hands brushing his torso, her fingertips teasing his nipples, and his breath caught in his throat.  
Entranced, Nives observed his muscular upper body; she had seen it many times, onscreen, and glimpsed at it live in theatre, but watching it closely, being able to caress it, feeling the heat of his skin under her fingers, the light perfume of his shower gel and the intriguing one of his aftershave was infinitely much exiting. Her feminine depths quivered: if she reacted like this now, she wondered confusedly, what would she do, when he would touch her intimately, love her and take her to the peaks of pleasure? She suspected she would at least swoon…  
She let his shirt slip down his arms until it fell to the floor, then she bent forwards and took a nipple between her lips, licking it with the tip of her tongue. She heard him ejaculate a delighted cry and was pleased.  
Richard was almost unable to breathe under Nives’ sensual caresses; his jeans had suddenly become an unbearable constraint while his desire for her revealed itself at full force. Good grief, he thought incredulous, it was since high school he didn’t react with such a readiness and a vigour to a woman’s ministrations…  
He embraced her again; he unhooked her bra, passing the straps slowly down her arms to free her from the small garment, which fell on the floor with all the other ones, and then he bent his head to reciprocate the seductive caresses she lavished him, closing his mouth around a nipple and beginning to suck it gently. He heard her utter a groan which induced him to increase the suction, all the while caressing her other nipple with his fingertips and causing thus more exiting love sighs.  
Nives felt feverish, she was so hot even being half-naked. Her heart pounded wildly, almost hurting her. Richard was teasing her in a skilled and attentive way, meant to let her lose her head, and he was fully succeeding: she felt on the verge of a climax… and he didn’t even touch her where she was burning!  
Not that Richard was doing better: he was near to lose control. He would have liked to tear off all her remaining clothes and take her right away, against the wall, making her shout out in pleasure; but with an immense effort he restraint himself, at least partially. He took off his lips from her breasts and lifted her in his arms.  
Nives breath caught in her throat: this was a very romantic gesture she made her male characters often do in her novels – including Porter and Aryon – but she didn’t expect it happening to her. For this unforeseen gesture, she felt she adored him even more, if possible.  
Unaware of her thrilled thoughts, with three strides of his long legs Richard carried her to the bed, where he laid her carefully. He took her shoes off, noticing she was wearing short sexy black lace socks; he took off these, too, and then went to open her jeans. Nives helped him, lowering her rather tight pants and letting him complete the work, but when he tried to take off also her last garment, she halted him, wanting to undress him. Richard let her unbuckle his belt, unbutton and unzip his jeans, then, too impatient to wait any longer, in two seconds took off everything.  
Nives had seen him naked or half-naked out of script reasons many times, onscreen; but nothing had her prepared to the live vision of his sculpted body, finally completely revealed.  
She too, had Richard breathless; whilst he finally took off her culottes, he looked at her up and down, admiring her lovely shape at last wholly unclothed.  
“You’re gorgeous”, he murmured, laying down beside her. The bed was narrow, but in that moment, they surely didn’t need much space.  
His eager gaze had her exited beyond any description, like he had caressed and kissed her everywhere. She kissed him, pulling him atop her to wrap him in her arms and legs, presently ready for him.  
But Richard had other plans: even if terribly tempted to take her immediately, again he was able to restrain himself and backed just the necessary to bend and begin a chain of kisses and caresses which, from Nives’ neck, would take him to his goal, the hot centre of her body. He wanted to show her all his veneration, he wanted her to understand he was ‘making love’ to her, not just having sex with her.  
He took his time, indulging in kisses and caresses and enjoying the incoherent and breathless sounds she uttered, responding to his solicitations. Slowly, slowly he went down her body, his fingers on reconnaissance, his lips following, on her chest, breasts, abdomen, and finally he touched the curls adorning her feminine treasure.  
Nives felt him brushing the exited knot of her pleasure and started uncontrollably, while an unarticulated cry escaped her throat. She realized she was so near the top that just some more caresses would suffice to send her orbiting.  
“Richard…”, she wheezed. He didn’t stop; his lips travelled down her throbbing belly, and finally replaced his fingers, “OH!”, Nives cried, her burning womanly depths pulsating in hot shudders, first signs of the by now forthcoming acme, “Please… please…”, she begged him.  
Richard couldn’t take anymore, unbearably tempted by her longing; he lifted himself and laid on top of her. Presuming that it possibly had been a long time since Nives had any sexual intercourse and being therefore afraid to hurt her, he pushed himself inside of her very slowly, delicately; but his precaution wasn’t necessary, because his skilled and lovingly caresses had her perfectly prepared.  
Feeling him sweetly invading her body, Nives opened wide her eyes, in ecstasy, only to discover he was staring at her with those amazing blue irises of him. Tears welled up in her eyes: never, in all her life, a lover had treated her with so much care and attention, and this moved her deeply. She cupped his face in her hands and pulled him to her for a tender and at the same time passionate kiss, which expressed all her love for him.  
Her thrilled gaze, her intense kiss make Richard’s soul throb as much as his body was throbbing, finally united to hers. He reciprocated the kiss with the same fervour.  
He began to move, still with precaution, even if it didn’t seem to him that Nives had felt uncomfortable or, worse, any pain; she was wrapping him perfectly, like a glove, like she had been made for him… and he for her.  
“Nives… o Nives…”, he whispered, hoarsely.  
Nives felt him push, then pull back, cautiously, gently. She reciprocated in a counter-movement, expanding it, moving with a confidence she didn’t believe to have still, after so much time passed in abstinence. She wanted him to understand he wasn’t hurting her, on the contrary, he was giving her an incredible pleasure, which went far beyond the flesh, because it involved her sentiments and emotions.  
Feeling her responding so readily, Richard realized everything was fine and thus he ventured to move more vigorously. The delighted moan she uttered intoxicated him. He raised on his arms; looking into her eyes, he sped up his movements.  
Nives lifted a knee and adjusted immediately to the new pace; already perceiving the signals for the upcoming climax, she uttered a breathless groan, then another, louder. With no warning, she arrived straight to the peak; closing her eyes, she gave off a small cry, which expressed both delight and wonder.  
Richard watched enchanted her face transfixed by pleasure; he continued moving to prolong as much as possible this moment, then he couldn’t withhold any longer and let himself go with a long-lasting groan, low and vibrant.  
More spasms shook them, reverberating from one another, making their body tremble as much as their hearts. Finally, they laid down, engulfed in each other arms and legs, their heart rates at full speed, their breaths stressed, their minds temporarily clouded by the mutual delight.  
Then, Richard felt Nives’ lips caressing his temple; he turned his head and sought her mouth with his, for a long-lasting, fervent, passionate kiss, and being kissed likewise.  
Finally, he pulled back to look at her. Nives’ eyes were sparkling, so full of love he felt his head spin. He kissed her again, tenderly.  
“Wonderful…”, he murmured against her lips.  
“Yes, really wonderful”, she sighed, “Nobody… had never made love to me like you…”  
It was true: never before a man had made love with her in such a captivating way, both on a physical and an emotional level, like Richard had. In any way things would go between them, if their relationship was destined to this sole night or to a much longer time, she would recall forever their first time together like something glorious and amazing, unbelievably beautiful.  
At her statement, Richard felt a lump forming in his throat: Nives deserved to be loved, appreciated, ‘cherished’! How was it that none did it before?  
He opened up his mouth to confess her his sentiments, but she resumed speaking:  
“I want you to know that I ‘made love’ with you… I didn’t have sex with you. But know, too, that if this is not what you feel, it’s okay nonetheless. I don’t demand anything from you. I’ll be happy with whatever you’ll give me…”  
Her voice faded: she wasn’t able to confess him clearly she loved him; she wanted him to know, but she was afraid to sound pushy, therefore she chose a circumlocution.  
Richard was speechless: surprise, consternation and joy mixed up tumultuously in his heart. Surprise because she expressed her sentiments in such an unexpected way; consternation for the implicit assertion that maybe he didn’t reciprocate her; and joy because he knew it wasn’t so.  
“Oh darling…”, he cried, before kissing her hotly. Dumbfounded by his fervour, Nives underwent the kiss for some seconds before beginning to reciprocate it with the same intensity, not understanding the reason for such a heat.  
Richard was indescribably thrilled. Never ever in all his life did he feel loved, even adored, in such an unconditioned way. And he loved, adored her the same.  
When he left her lips, Richard pulled back his head in order to look straight into her eyes, so that the sincerity of what he was going to say would be unquestionable.  
“What I want to give you”, he said slowly, articulating each word carefully like only a theatre actor can do, “is my heart, my soul, my mind, my body. Everything. I’m yours. Unconditionally. Because I’m in love with you. I had been waiting for you all my life…”  
The more he spoke, the more Nives’ eyes were widening. ’He was telling her he loved her!’ She couldn’t believe at what she was hearing.  
“You’re… in love with ’me’?!”, she asked faintly.  
“Yes, I am”, Richard asserted, sweetly, touched by her evident, incredulous thrill, “Exactly with you, Nives Nardini. Like I have never been in love before in all my life. Sometimes… sometimes I wonder if you’re but a dream, if my desire to meet the woman of my life drove me mad and made me take fantasy for reality…”  
’He’ was wondering if it was a dream, thought Nives, dazed. And ’she’, then??  
“But but but…”, she stammered; then, realizing she was stuttering, she went silent and inhaled slowly to try and calm down enough to be able to articulate a complete sentence, “But how can this be…?”, she whispered, “You’re… you’re a famous actor, known and idolized by millions of women, you hang out with the international jet set, while I… I am but a modest provincial girl…”  
She stopped speaking because he was shaking his head.  
“That’s the way the world sees us”, he said in a low voice, “Actually, we’re only Nives and Richard, a woman and a man, and nothing else matters, only the sentiment we share…”, he caressed her brow with his lips in a reassuring gesture, “I don’t care to be the idol of so many women, I care only to be your man… if you want me.”  
He was asking her if ’she’ wanted him? Nives looked at him incredulously, whilst tears of joy were welling up in her eyes.  
“You doubt I want you?”, she breathed, “You’re ‘kidding me’, right…?”  
“I’m not that arrogant to take it for granted…”  
She interrupted him with a sudden kiss.  
“I love you so much”, she murmured on his lips, “my heart is bursting…”  
Richard recalled her words in Windsor, when she told him her fangirl heart was risking to burst because of him and he hoped it did, but out of love for him… His wish had been satisfied; he felt a lump in his throat.  
“I hope I’ll deserve it”, he whispered back, “I hope I’ll measure up to your expectations.”  
Nives pulled back, perplexed.  
“My expectations…? What are you talking about?”, she enquired.  
“I’m ’not’ perfect”, he explained, “I’ve got my lacks, some even really big, like when I concentrate on a character and don’t let it go until I’m finished with the daily job, and sometimes those characters are difficult, dreary… When I was doing Thorin, for instance, I was often grumpy and irritating like him the whole day long; sometimes, in order not to lose my focus, I kept away from everyone and I spent the lunch break alone staring at a wall, stiff and grouchy…”  
“I know and respect this peculiarity of yours”, she reassured him, “As for lacks, I’ve got some, too, what did you think? I’m a perfectionist and a moody person, for instance…”, she kissed him, “My mother, who spent 63 years with my father, engagement and marriage, used to say that the secret of success in a relationship is simply the acceptance of one another as we are. It doesn’t matter to understand each other, only accepting each other. With no ifs nor buts.”  
“A very wise woman, your mother”, Richard considered, and then he moved to pull away, but Nives held him.  
“Where are you going?”  
“Don’t I weight too much on you?”, he asked, worried: he was over 200 pounds, she could be scarcely 130, and he was afraid to crush her.  
In response, Nives tightened her grasp around him using arms and legs.  
“Not at all”, she declared, and then her voice went an octave lower, “On the contrary, I do love it…”  
Her moves teased Richard, still deeply buried inside her warm body. With a certain surprise, he realize he was ready again; this would seem normal to him at twenty, but at forty-three he didn’t expect such a quick recovery. The effect Nives had on him was simply ’devastating’.  
He moved in response and satisfied he heard her sigh in pleasure.  
It didn’t take long for a new round of the love dance to begin.


	10. Sunday, September 21st, 2014

 

Chapter X: Sunday, September 21st, 2014

The next morning, Nives waked up very slowly; astonished, she realized she had slept all night long with not a single arousing, what didn’t happen for much time: during the years, the growing of sorrows had her caused a creeping depression which, in spite of her brave fight against it, has somatised in a disturbed sleep.  
But not this night: she had slept like a baby, immersed in a cocoon of dreamy happiness; however, all of a sudden, at the bottom of her mind there came the frightful thought that everything had been but a hallucination, a vivid dream caused by her immense desire for Richard’s love. For a moment, taken by panic, she refused to awake, because if she would discover that her dread was valid, the despair would be unbearable…  
Then she felt two strong arms around her and the warmth of a solid male body behind her own; her heart jumped with joy. She opened wide her eyes in the dim light of the room; through the window – the night before they forgot to close the curtains – penetrated the glow of the lagoon sunrise. The panic disappeared abruptly, dispersed by a wonderful reality.  
Feeling her moving in his arms, Richard, already awake for some time, lifted his head and caressed her temple with a kiss.  
“Good morning, my sweet lady”, he greeted her in an undertone. The sound of his low baritone voice got her pleasant shivers, as well as the romantic epithet.  
“Good morning to you, my lord”, she reciprocated, and then she realized what exactly it was, what she was feeling pushing on the lowest part of her back; she recalled a line of an old fan fiction of hers and, with a naughty grin, she decided to adapt it to the present situation, “Hey, Armitage, is this your gun or are you simply happy to see me…?”, she asked, wiggling her pelvis in order to rub herself against him.  
“Ah!”, cried Richard with a surprised start, and then he laughed, “You’re a real rascal, now are you not?!”, he stopped her by crushing her against his body, “Be careful… Or else I’ll be forced to punish you…”  
She turned in his arms and put one leg over his, positioning herself unashamedly so that their most intimate spots brushed one against the other, and kissed him.  
“O yes, I beg you”, she murmured against his mouth, “punish me hard”, she lowered her hand between their intertwined bodies and touched him where he was most sensitive, “Very… ’ _hard_ ’…”  
* * * * *  
After another delightful round of love, consumed very sweetly, they rested in each other’s arms.  
“What is today’s schedule?”, Richard asked her, caressing slowly her arm.  
“I programmed to visit a couple of churches, this morning”, she replied, “At noon he have to check out, but we can leave the luggage here in the hotel and go to lunch, and then in the afternoon we have until 4 o’clock before leaving for the airport: your flight is at 7 and therefore you must be there at 5…”  
“Already departure day”, he complained, “I’d like to stop time…”  
Nives sighed:  
“Me, too…”  
He hold her tighter:  
“Must we really go out…?”  
The Italian woman reciprocated his grasp, realizing what his aim was and agreeing completely.  
“No, these visits are free, not booked”, she answered, “Do you like us to stay here?”  
“Yes… I want to be with you as long as possible, you and me alone… I have no desire even to go down to breakfast…”  
She giggled:  
“I remind you we skipped dinner… I don’t think it a good idea to skip breakfast, too!”  
Richard kissed her hair:  
“You’re right… but we can call the room service, right?”  
“Ah, right”, Nives agreed, and then she grinned, “I wonder what they’ll think, when I’ll order breakfast for two in a single room!”  
“Let them think whatever they want”, snorted the actor, impatiently; but Nives was already considering the consequences of the potential gossip:  
“When the waiter arrives, better if you don’t show yourself”, she told him, “If he recognizes you and reports it to some magazine, goodbye privacy.”  
Richard sighed: the inconvenience of celebrity, the only one which really bothered him, was being forced to defend his private life tooth and nail. He found the woman of his life and he wanted to enjoy this as long as he could, before being forced to share it with the whole world.  
“True”, he admitted reluctantly, “I’ll do so.”  
Hence Nives called the room service and ordered breakfast for two. Richard dressed and returned to his room to shave, while Nives freshened up, and then she stayed in her bathrobe awaiting for the breakfast to arrive. About twenty minutes later she heard a knock on the door and opened; a waitress gave her a smiling good morning and pushed in her trolley, swiftly setting the table. If she was wondering who could Nives’ guest be, she didn’t show any kind of curiosity; anyway, Nives thought, with her job she must see any sort of things a sufficient number of time to not be astounded by anything anymore.  
When the waitress was gone, Nives waited a couple of minutes and then, as they had agreed, she went and called Richard.  
While they were breakfasting, he had another idea:  
“What if we ask to keep your room until the time we’ll leave? If they don’t have any booking for it, paying an extra there shouldn’t be any problems…”  
“What a wonderful idea!”, Nives approved, very happy to be able to prolong, even only for a few hours, Richard’s company eye to eye. Then she felt her cheeks burn: when they would see neither of them coming down, it would be clear to all what they were doing, in one room, until the departure… ‘ _and who cares_ ’, she thought in a moment of irritation, she hadn’t to respond to anyone of her own behaviour, nor did Richard. They were two fully grown up persons, and in love with each other: it was more than natural they wanted to stay alone together.  
Richard noticed her blushing; he realized what was the reason for it and felt touched: Nives was a self-confident woman, but a little shy, too, a mix he noticed since the first night and which had delighted him then like it did it now. To spare her the embarrassment, he offered to go down to the reception to make the needed arrangements.  
There weren’t problems: they could have Nives’ room until late in the afternoon. At this point, Richard returned again to his room to pack and bring his luggage in her room, so he hadn’t to think about it later, because he had anyway to leave the room within noon. He tried to hasten as much as possible, impatient to go back to her; then they hung the do not disturb sign on the doorknob and went back to bed, not so much to make love again – non immediately, anyway – but to cuddle and kiss and talk.  
“I hope they’ll able to organize a première in Italy”, said Richard, “but should they not succeed, would you take into account the possibility to come to another? At the moment, I know for certain only for London…”  
“Of course I’ll come”, she answered, glad of the opportunity, “but I hope there will be no need: I’ve got four friends, among them Lorraine, who’d like to come, too, but non all would have the possibility to come abroad. There’s one in particular, Beatrice, whom I’d like very much to introduce to Lee Pace. You know, she’s a fan of his like me of you, and she’d give her right arm to meet him, even if only once…”  
“It’s surely possible, if Lee will come”, asserted Richard, “Unfortunately I can have only one guest, but it shouldn’t be hard to organize a meeting after the première, we’ve got only to arrange things.”  
“Beatrice would be immensely happy… You know, not even she had an easy life, and she deserves widely to realize a dream like this.”  
“Then I’ll be doubly so glad in contributing to make it become true”, the actor declared. Nives smiled at him, grateful.  
“Anyway it’d be only for Beatrice, that I’d like to organize a meeting with Lee”, she pointed out, “no need to count also the other ones…”  
“I don’t think it’d be a big problem to let them all come”, Richard considered, “I need only to inform the security and give their names.”  
Nives looked at him, more and more struck by his willingness and generosity. She threw her arms around his neck:  
“You are a ’ _fantastic_ ’ man”, she whispered in his ear, “I knew it before, but now I see it.”  
“Come on, for such a trifle…”, he murmured back, a little surprised. It didn’t seem to him to make anything extraordinary, but this was due only to his natural modesty.

The hours passed swiftly; at lunch they exited just the time needed to go to a ’ _bacaro_ ’ and eat some sandwiches with a sparkling rosé wine, and then they went back to the room to spend together what time they had still left.  
“Tell me…”, Nives asked him short after they came back, while they laid cuddling on the bed, “What drove you, that night out of the theatre, to ask me to wait for you?”  
Richard was silent for a moment, hesitating to confide her what he continued to consider an oddity, if not an absurdity.  
“Perhaps you’ll take me for a fool”, he decided finally to reply, looking into her eyes, “but a couple of months ago I posed for a photoshoot inside the theatre and I sat down precisely on the seat you have been in…”, he halted because she was nodding:  
“”Yeah, I saw those photos. I had already booked and I hoped it was exactly that seat… what a crazy coincidence…”  
He took her hand and kissed her fingers, staring into her eyes.  
“Perhaps it wasn’t a coincidence”, he stated. She frowned, not understanding:  
“What do you mean?”  
Richard took a breath before he continued:  
“When I sat down on that seat, I felt a very odd sensation… like predestination. I imagined someone very important for me sitting there, but then I thought it was foolishness, that I was getting carried away by my craving for the woman of my life… I had no idea it would be exactly like this.”  
He stopped because Nives was staring at him, stunned. He thought he had shocked her.  
“I know it sounds absurd, but I swear, it’s the truth”, he assured her. She blinked rapidly, her eyes suddenly full of tears.  
“I believe you, Richard”, she told him in a small voice; it was true, she really believed in these kind of things, however it was something else that got her thrilled, something he had said, “But… do you ’ _really_ ’ think I’m the woman of your life…?”  
He felt her tremble in his arms, like two nights earlier, and he realized she still doubted of the importance she had for him.  
He pressed her to his chest, caressing her back.  
“Absolutely yes”, he murmured in her ear, “I never felt anything like this I’m feeling for you, before. The reason can only be this.”  
Nives reciprocated his hug, feeling overwhelmed by an inconceivable happiness. Uncontrollable sobs shook her, caused by joy and deep feelings.  
Non completely understanding the woman’s emotion, Richard hugged her tighter and caressed her hair, trying to comfort her.  
“I’m here”, he whispered, “I’m here, my love…”  
Nives clung on him, letting go her tears. Years of loneliness had formed an enormous knot in her soul, a knot which now this cry was finally untying. O how much did she crave, hope, ’dreamt’ to hear such words from someone she loved… and that this someone would be exactly Richard Armitage, her idol, her impossible love, her fangirl dream, seemed to her simply unconceivable.  
When finally he felt her calm down, Richard lifted her face and wiped away her tears with his kisses.  
“I… I will never get persuaded you love me”, Nives whispered, “Already one other time I gave all my heart to a man, who in the end trampled on it and threw it away like an old shoe… He almost destroyed me… and this still makes me think it’s all just an illusion and I’m deadly frightened…”  
Whilst she was speaking, Richard felt his hands itch from the want to punch hard her ex husband to make her suffer so much; but she had told him he died a few years ago in a motorbike accident, and therefore he might rest in peace. However, he still wanted to beat him to pulp; this wasn’t very noble from his part, but he couldn’t help it.  
He set his teeth trying to calm down and concentrated instead on what she had told him.  
“I asked you the other night”, he said gravely, “and I ask it to you again: what can I do to convince you it’s all true?”  
She shut her eye for a long moment, and then opened them again to look at him.  
“Tell me you love me”, she replied, “Don’t ever get tired to repeat it, every day, over and over again. Because for me each time will be like the first time…”  
“I love you”, he told her, beginning immediately to fulfil her request, “I love you”, he cupped her face and drew her nearer, “I love you…”, he repeated for the third time, laying his mouth on hers. He kissed her many a time; she reciprocated.  
Richard thought it was the right moment to give her the ’murrine’ he bought for her.  
“I’ve got something for you”, he said, getting up. He rummaged in his hand luggage and took out a small green box, then he came back, sat on the bed and handed it to her. Nives sat up and took it, surprised and thrilled. Imprinted on the box, there was the glassmaker’s brand, whose workshop they visited with Lorraine the previous day.  
Trying not to let her hands shake, she opened the box; the contents left her open-mouthed: a silver necklace with a water-green heart-shaped pendant and matching earrings. Maybe the value in money wasn’t particularly high, but the symbolic value was simply ’immense’. Again, her eyes were filled with tears of deep feelings. She didn’t even remember when she received last time a present with a similar meaning.

  
“O Richard…”, she whispered, “They’re magnificent…”  
“Do you like the colour?”, he asked, feeling thrilled by her thrill.  
“Very much”, she answered, “Green is my favourite colour.”  
Glad to have guessed it right, Richard smiled, but a few moments later his smile was cancelled by Nives’ fervid kisses.  
They made love once more, passionately, trying to forget the imminent separation; but, inevitably, the fatidic departure hour at last arrived.  
With heavy hearts, they went down to check out. Richard tried to pay for her, but Nives declined his offer.  
“I thank you”, she said, “but when I can afford it, I prefer to pay my things myself.”  
By now he had realized Nives was very proud of her independence, therefore he didn’t insist. It would be different if he invited her somewhere: then she would be his guest and she couldn’t have anything to complain.  
They made the inverse journey, by foot to the pier, then on the ferry to ’ _piazzale_ ’ Roma, where they found the taxi they booked at the hotel awaiting for them, which took them to the park where Nives had left her car. From there, they reached the Marco Polo airport in perfectly due time; the woman accompanied the actor and kept him company while he checked in. They went and had a coffee together, and finally the moment to say goodbye.  
“I’d like so badly to hold you tight and kiss you one last time”, Richard complained, brushing her hand.  
“Me, too”, she said, “but we could get caught and photographed…”  
“…and in one hour the photo would go around the world”, he actor grumbled, and then he sighed, “I’d better go, or I won’t be able to restrain myself and to hell the consequences…”  
Nives accompanied him to the check point, where she couldn’t go through. They hugged, trying to make it look just friendly, and he used the moment to whisper in her ear:  
“I love you, Nives.”  
She held her breath for a moment, before she was able to reply:  
“I love you, too, Richard.”  
They parted.  
“Have a good trip home”, she wished him.  
“Thank you… I’ll call you when I’m there.”  
“Okay”, Nives nodded; obviously, they exchanged numbers and Skype contact. He grabbed her hand, wishing he could kiss her instead; after a last smouldering gaze, he forced himself to turn and head to the check point.

  
Nives stood still looking after him for a few seconds, then she couldn’t bear it any longer and turned to go away, pacing hurriedly to avoid turning around, what would only make worse the agony of separation. She gulped down furiously the lump in her throat: differently than the first time, now she knew that it was only a momentarily parting, even if it would last many weeks, because he had to leave for Los Angeles and would stay there until the beginning of the tour for the première around the world. They would meet again at the possible Italian première or, if it couldn’t take place, at the London one or in some other European town; but it would take at least two and a half months and it seemed an eternity to her.  
She went back to her car, where she couldn’t hold back any longer and burst into tears. She had just found him, and had already to part from him, when instead she would only spend many other days – and many other nights – in his arms. Better, the rest of her life… She was aware that she was overreacting, that theirs wasn’t at all a last farewell, but only a temporarily goodbye; but she couldn’t help it, she had been alone so long, she had waited for him so long, that now the thought not to be together the man she loved with all she had was, simply, unbearable.  
Slowly, her tears ceased; when she had calmed down enough to be able to drive, she started the engine and headed home.

Richard boarded the plane and sat on the seat, fastening his belt. His neighbour recognized him and, after complimenting him for his cinematographic successes, he asked him for an autograph, which the actor conceded gladly as usual; but he realized he was strangely absent, his mind occupied by the thought of Nives. It had been terribly hard to leave her, when his only desire was to be with her. The thought it would take ten or twelve weeks to see her again distressed him.  
Once in the air, he switched on his iPod to listen to some music, not differently as he had done coming; but he constantly thought of Nives. He missed her already; and he knew that, as days and weeks would go by, it would become even worse. The only antidote he could think of was to fling himself into work, using his ferocious concentration capability in order to keep at bay his feelings about missing the woman he loved.

As soon as she got home, Nives booted up her computer and connected to Facebook: she needed to vent with somebody, and who better than her friend Beatrice, who shared with her a mad passion for an actor? Of course, now there was the substantial difference that she had been able to meet personally her idol and what more – and completely unexpectedly – to win his love, while for the other one it still was just a dream; but only she, among her friends, could understand the emotional storm she was facing.  
She went on Hathor Eagle’s account and saw she had posted something – a picture of Thranduil, the tolkienian character played by Lee Pace – therefore she hoped she was still online; she sent her a private message.  
_’Hi! I’m back from Venice!’_  
_’Hi sweetie, so how was it??’_  
Nives thought it wouldn’t be nice to spill the beans immediately, hence she took the long road.  
_’We had wonderful weather, warm and sunny.’_  
_’OK I saw that myself… but Richard??’_  
_’He adored everything we went sightseeing, beginning from the Canal Grande when we took the ferry from Roma square, then the St. Mark Cathedral, Doge’s Palace, the Clocktower, the glassmaker’s workshop Lorraine took us… and then pizza, pasta, seafood, wine, coffee…’_  
_‘It’s NOT this I meant, and you know it perfectly…_ ’, Beatrice scolded her, sending her an emoticon with a sticking out tongue. Nives laughed despite her sadness, thankful to her friend for being able to ease her blues.  
_’Richard was very nice… he wooed me in a discreet and romantic way…’_  
‘ _You want to kill meeeeee!!!! SPEAK!'_ , her friend commanded, making her laugh again.  
’ _Okay, okay…_ ’, she calmed her down, ’ _Thursday evening I took him out to pizza, absolutely nothing happened. Friday we visited the cathedral and the palace; at night Richard took me to dinner in a very elegant restaurant, I brought beautiful but comfortable shoes to walk around in the Venetian ‘calli’ but he thought of another mean of transportation…’_  
She voluntarily let the sentence pending, and as she had foreseen, Beatrice reacted by urging her:  
’ _What, a motorboat?’_  
_’No… a gongola!!!_ ’  
There was a moment of blankness, while evidently her friend was trying to assimilate the news. Then she received an emoticon showing a stunned face, with popped out eyes and mouth wide open.  
_’WHAAAT????’_  
‘ _That’s right'_ , Nives confirmed, ’ _with the gondolier singing love songs, evidently thinking we were a couple… I swear I was going to melt… I was almost unable to speak, he was worried having done me wrong while instead I was so moved I was about to cry… I was able to grab myself just in time for our arrival at the restaurant and there I was again open-mouthed, it was the most elegant restaurant I’ve ever seen…’_  
She stopped to send the message, then the resumed typing, but Beatrice sent her a question:  
_’How were you dressed up? And he?’_  
Nives stopped her writing and went back in order to insert her answer:  
_’He had a dark suit and a cravat, just TO DIE for… I put on the white bustier I had back at the theatre in London, only a different skirt, and when he saw me he said I was charming… I was about to melt on the chair… You can only imagine how much my heart was racing…’_  
_’I imagine it quite well… would it have been Lee to tell me such a compliment I would FAINT… Come on, and then??’_  
_’We ate, during dinner nothing particular happened, and then we went back by foot in order to digest better food and wine…’_  
_‘I know well what I’d do to digest, would I be with Lee…_  
Nives burst into laughter: she and Beatrice joked often on such subjects, it was a game but also a comfort, even if very small, being both unhappy with heir sentimental situation.  
But she wasn’t anymore; o no, not at all…  
_‘Um, to tell you the truth, it was close…’_  
_‘What WHAT?? But you’re really killing me… spill the beans once and for all!!!’_  
_‘When we got back at the hotel, he kissed me!’_  
_‘AAAAHHHHH!!!!! And then you made love???’_  
_‘Straight to the point_ ’, thought Nives laughing again, ’ _Blessed woman, thank you for being my friend, you don’t know how much you are doing good to my morale…_ ’  
She resumed writing:  
_’NO!!! I wasn’t ready… not because I didn’t want it, let’s be clear, but it was all happening too fast… I couldn’t believe it… He sensed my hesitation and stopped. And yet he’d could just have insisted and I’d surrender… but he’s too much the gentleman to take advantage on a woman…’_  
_‘OOOHHHH how romantic… But then, what happened??’_  
‘ _He asked me how he could convince me it was all true and I asked him to kiss me like this the next day, too. And Bea… HE DID IT!!!!’_  
_‘So you went to sleep each in a different bed, but the morning after he kissed you breathlessly? And then you made love??’_  
_‘And there she goes again!_ ’, though Nives grinning.  
_’Again NO! We kissed breathlessly, right, but then we went out to sightsee the Clocktower and St. Mark’s Belltower, and then Lorraine came to pick us up and we went to lunch; in the afternoon we visited her friend the glassmaker’s workshop in Murano, where Richard was struck by the glassmaking and bought some things for himself and for his mom…’_  
She sent the message, and after a few moments Beatrice replied:  
_’All very interesting, but when will you get to the point???’_  
Again Nives laughed: it was really doing her good, to chat with her friend.  
_’At night Lorraine went back home and we had to go out to dine in a ‘_ bàcaro _’. He came to pick me up wearing a leather jacket… he was so hot, I thought I was going to melt down on the spot!’_  
_‘I believe you effortlessly, Richard is really a big hunk… not like Lee, in my eyes, but I understand you… So, what happened next???_  
Nives smiled with a dreamy air to the memory and wrote:  
_’You know when heaven and earth meet…?’_  
She was referring to the title of the chapter where her Tolkienian alter ego, Nerwen the Green, and the Elf prince Aryon made love for the first time. Beatrice told her it was the most beautiful and romantically sexy scene she ever read in all her life.  
She, too, was writing a Tolkienian fan fiction, whose male protagonist was of course Thranduil, who fell in love with Mereth, adoptive daughter of Elrond, who obviously was Beatrice’s alter ego.  
’ _OHOLYGODSOFTHEOLYMPUUUUSSSSS!!!!_ ’, wrote Beatrice, borrowing an expression of Nives’ female protagonist in a short story about Richard Armitage, ’ _O dear I’m so happy for you a little envious too but above all happy o goodness how I would live something like this with Lee…’_  
Nives noticed she omitted all punctuation, in the fury and emotion of writing.  
’ _I felt like in paradise’_ , she wrote, ‘ _it was wonderful, no one had ever made me feel like this, and I’m obviously not speaking about the physical side… not only, that is. Yes darling, me too, I’d like you to live with Lee what I’m living with Richard…’_  
She sent her the message while Beatrice flooded her with tiny faced, star-eyed or with many hearts surrounding them, making her smile, touched. Her friend was a very romantic woman who had been awfully let down by her husband, ho left her a few years ago; she had suffered greatly and Nives wished for her sincerely a splendid love story like hers, which possibly would last all the rest of her life.  
’ _He even gave me a gift, a set of ‘murrine’, with a green heart-shaped necklace pendant…_ ’, she told her.  
Another tiny face, this time with heart-shaped eyes. Finally Beatrice recovered enough to go back and write in a more calm manner:  
_’How romaaaantic!!! He’s really in love, head over heels… And now, when will you see each other again? Soon, right???’_  
_’Not so soon as we’d like to… In two weeks he’ll go to Los Angeles where he has to shoot a movie and stay there until the beginning of the tour for the BOFA première, which will start at beginning December. If we’ll succeed to have one in Italy we’ll meet again there, if not I’ll reach him in whatever one they’ll do in Europe.’_  
The acronym referred to the last movie of ’The Hobbit’ trilogy, ’The Battle of the Five Armies’.  
_’Good heavens, that’s almost two and a half months, it’s an INFINTE time!’_  
Nives pressed her lips, suddenly facing again that unpleasant thought.  
_’Don’t tell me… I feel blue just thinking about it… When I left him at the airport and got back to the car, I cried like a fool…’_  
Beatrice realized she got her friend upset and her regret showed through in her next message:  
_’No, don’t think about it, or else it’s much worse! Be happy with your shared love, don’t think of anything else! Looking at the situation on the opposite side, it’s just a few weeks, not years. Come on! Then it will be fabulous, when you’ll meet again…’_  
There she was perfectly right, mused Nives: it was hard to be apart for ten or eleven weeks, but the mutual missing would make their reunion even more thrilling.  
_’Yes, you’re right… I’ll try and not think about it too much or I risk to get sick of it. We’ll keep in touch through Skype, e-mails and text messages, I’ll manage to make do with it until the next encounter…’_  
Nives recalled a promise Richard made her and shared it with Beatrice:  
_’I didn’t’ tell you yet something I’m sure will please you VERY MUCH… If you’ll come at the première with me, through Richard I can get you to meet Lee Pace! Assuming he’s coming, of course…’_  
Her friend didn’t reply immediately, evidently astonished by the news:  
_’AAAAAHHHHH!! Reallyyyyy???? I DIE!’_  
Nives laughed, but she understood perfectly the emotion the other one was feeling.  
’ _So you already know if there will be a première in Italy?_ ’, Beatrice asked.  
’ _No, they still don’t know where they’ll hold the premières; if there will be one in Italy, we’ll go there of course, in Milan or Rome or wherever it may be. Otherwise would you come to some other place, here in Europe?’_  
_’OF COURSE I’d come, I wouldn’t miss the occasion to meet Lee not even if they kill me!!!!’_  
_’Fine, I’ll keep you updated then…’_  
They chatted a little longer, then Nives said hallo to her friend, asking her again her complete discretion about her relationship with Richard; obviously Beatrice assured her she would keep her mouth tightly shut and sealed.  
At this point, Nives sent a message to Lorraine, telling her about herself and Richard: as her friend was a smart and sensitive woman, she thought she already realized it all and it was therefore useless not telling her the truth.  
Actually Lorraine confirmed she had realized what there was between them.  
’I’m so happy for you and for Richard’, she wrote to her, ’Would you tell, in London, that things would evolve like this? LOL’  
’Never, ever I’d think it could’, Nives answered, ’I still can’t believe it, and I’m afraid I will for a very long time…’  
‘I have no doubt he’ll find the way to reassure you… I told you back in London I perceived a positive energy around him, and in Venice it was much stronger: believe me, he’s really in love with you, it’s not a superficial thing…’  
Like Nives, Lorraine, too, believed there was something beyond the physical appearance, thin energies not measurable with instruments but perceivable only at sensation level. One needs only to listen to his or her soul to be able to discern them, perseverating in the trying until slowly the capacity to ’feel’ things and people at energetic level becomes clear. Lorraine was much better than Nives at this, dedicating much time to this kind of research; but Nives, too, had this ability, which often would surprise her with piercing intuitions revealing themselves absolutely precise. The problem with Richard was simply that her fears were so strong to obscure this capacity.  
Even if she knew it was unnecessary, as with Beatrice she recommended the greatest discretion; Lorraine of course confirmed she would keep the secret.

At a quarter past nine, while Nives was comfortably stretched out on her sofa, watching one of her beloved crime series, her cell-phone ringed; on the display appeared Richard’s name. A smile blossomed on her lips while she silenced the TV and answered:  
“Hello?”  
“Hello love, I just arrived safe and sound at Gatwick”, Richard’s deep voice said, “I’m waiting for my luggage.”  
“Fine! Everything’s ok?”  
“Yeah, thanks, everything’s fine… Except I already miss you terribly…”  
Nives was glad to be half laying on the couch because this declaration, expressed with a low and tender voice, turned her legs to jelly and took her breath away.  
“Me too, I already miss you terribly…”, she whispered.  
“It will be a very long time, until December…”, Richard complained, still in an undertone.  
“Let’s not think about it, or it will be worse”, she exhorted him, following Beatrice’s wise advice, “And think instead how wonderful it’ll be to meet again…”  
Her voice went an octave lower, enriched with a slightly hoarse tone alluding to future love delights.  
On the other side of the phone connection, Richard felt a slow shudder travelling down his abdomen to reverberate in his manhood. Making love with Nives had been the most breathtaking experience in his life and he already knew that repeating it would be simply elating. He closed his eyes, while thousand ideas rose in his mind of ways to give her pleasure, not only in the flesh, but also in the soul, to this Italian woman whom he had so unexpectedly and madly fallen in love with. He gulped.

  
“Yes”, he confirmed, slightly out of breath, “it’ll be magnificent…”  
Nives heard the expectation in his voice and felt, she too, a long-lasting shiver of desire and need.  
“If only I’d known I’d meet you”, Richard continued with a sigh, “I wouldn’t accept a job which would take me at once so far away from you.”  
Nives closed her eyes and sighed, she too.  
“Should we know beforehand what destiny has in store for us”, she replied, “we could avoid many mistakes, but were would dreams, hopes, surprises of life go…?”  
Richard laughed in his peculiar soft manner:  
“You’re a very wise woman, you know…?”  
“Simple common sense”, she contradicted him.  
“Well, it’s a ’ _very good_ ’ common sense”, the actor replied, “O, there it goes my suitcase…”  
“Then I say bye-bye… even if I don’t feel like.”  
“Nor do I… but you’re spending lots of money.”  
“I don’t care…”  
“I retrieved my suitcase; now I go out to look for a taxi.”  
“Okay. You hang up…”  
“No, you hang up…”  
Nives laughed:  
“We are acting like two teenagers at their first crush, do you realize it?”  
“Yes, and sincerely I don’t give a damn”, Richard laughed, too, heading toward the exit; he noticed somebody taking a picture or shooting with his cell-phone, “Tomorrow there will be pictures or videos of me on the internet”, he announced, shaking his head: the usual price for celebrity, which he anyway paid gladly – even if it was not always so – because after all it meant he had succeeded in his job.  
“I’ll keep an eye on the various Facebook groups I’m in”, she replied, “and when they’ll wonder where you were coming from, I’ll laugh under my moustaches.” (1)  
Not knowing the equivalent expression in English, she translated it literally, making Richard laugh again, understanding the meaning.  
“Yeah, me too”, he stated, “Now please hang up…”  
“Fine… actually, no, let’s hang up together, or we’ll go on and on and never stop!”  
“You’re right, let’s do it on the count of three…”  
So they did, both laughing at themselves and at their teenage behaviour: they might be childish, maybe, but so much in love that they were justified.

It wouldn’t be easy, for them; to manage a long-distance relationship never is, but if between the two parts there is will, nourished by true love, nothing – not distance, nor time – can prevent this relationship to work. Luckily they had many technological means to help them: phone, internet, Skype, Whatsapp. They could see each other and speak to each other even every day; it was only the physical being together, what would be more complicated, but fortunately airplanes do shorten very much any distance.  
Both were sure they had finally met their own soul mate and they wouldn’t let themselves be scared by the difficulties due to physical separation: both of them were persons who didn’t easily surrender. And two and a half months – so long they foresaw to must be separated, that is at least until the London première of ’ _The Battle of the Five Armies’_ – after all, pass quickly…

 

(1) Italian version for ‘ _to laugh up one’s sleeve_ ’

 

_The author’s corner:_

_So, finally we come to the end… I hope I made you dream like I dreamt while I was writing this fan fiction! I’d like it never ending, but it’s time to let go the two lovebirds with the promise of a bright future full of love. Anyway I don’t exclude that, should inspiration come, I could write some one shots, later on. I don’t making any promises, but… keep an eye on my account, you’ll never know! XD_

_If you had fun with this fan fiction, please let me know, possibly in a short review, or else with just “kudos”; thank you!! (and again, please forgive the mistakes I surely made or the odd way I wrote)_

_Lady Angel_


End file.
